


The Prisoner [Draft 2]

by superfluouskeys



Category: Sleeping Beauty (1959), Sleeping Beauty (Fairy Tale), Sleeping Beauty - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Gen, I'll tag this better later, Slow Burn, heed the warnings on the first draft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 23:30:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 40,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13891425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superfluouskeys/pseuds/superfluouskeys
Summary: Sixteen years ago, a wicked fairy condemned the Princess Aurora to die. A few days ago, defeated by Prince Philip and the Good Fairies, the wicked fairy Maleficent was confined to the dungeons of King Stefan's castle to await her own death sentence.  In her final hours, Maleficent offers the princess a bargain.First draft is here:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/11924298





	1. The Visitor

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! The first draft of this story was completed in August of 2017. I'm now in the process of editing it, mainly to solidify the style, tighten the plot, and majorly rework some of the secondary and tertiary characters. Some chapters probably won't change that much, eg. the first one, but I am incredibly scattered and so have decided to put this in its own story document thing.
> 
> Feedback is always welcome and encouraged!

“Aurora?”

Briar Rose smiled and lit from her bed.  She felt dizzy when she stood, and she had to sit back down, but at the very least she was sitting upright when Philip entered their room.  Prince Philip of the North was a tall and exquisitely handsome man with light brown hair and eyes.  His frame appeared at first glance to be slim, but he was actually rather brawny in stature—his shoulders were broad and his arms were muscular.

“Aurora,” Philip repeated warmly when he saw her, then, “Aurora,” closing his eyes and savouring the name on his lips.

This habit of his already made Briar Rose very uncomfortable, and she had only known Philip for a few days.  Every time he saw her, he said her name this way several times, and he saw her quite a lot.

The worst, however, had been on their wedding night.  She had been so nervous, for she knew absolutely nothing of men.  She had only been informed of her duties for the evening perhaps an hour prior, in a hurried, whispered conversation with her eldest aunt…or she supposed her non-aunt, who, herself, knew little of men.  Briar Rose had left the conversation trembling, and feeling as though she might expel the nonexistent contents of her stomach.

And then, after the initial pain had passed, when she had thought, _oh, this is not so bad_ , he had begun.  Begun to whisper and murmur and moan and cry out _Aurora_ and Briar Rose had, herself, begun to cry for how it shamed her.  She was completely vulnerable—so much more vulnerable than she had ever been, which was saying quite a lot—and Philip, her one hope for a dream come true, for a familiar face in this strange new world in which she found herself, called out for _Aurora_.

It was as though he were making love to someone else.

She was not Aurora.  She was Briar Rose.

“Philip,” she replied in the present, and she wondered what it must be like for him to hear the one he loved say his own name. 

Perhaps it oughtn't to matter so much to her.  Her aunts...well...  Her non-aunt fairy guardians were making a concentrated effort to call her by her new, old name.  Perhaps she ought to make a better effort to adjust to it, to leave her past behind her.  She'd considered telling him, anyway, asking that he call her Rose, but the request always caught in the back of her throat, another kind of pain entirely.  Briar Rose did not belong in this place.  No one wanted her here.  Perhaps not even Briar Rose, herself.

In any event, she doubted he would understand, for no one else seemed to.  Less charitably, she considered that with how frequently he said her new name, she doubted he could learn to say her old one. 

And anyway, there were more immediate matters to attend to.  “What has happened?  Is she…?”

"The creature is still alive," Philip cut her off, his expression darkening.  " _It_ awoke sometime this morning.  The Good Fairies feel that it would be unwise to kill the beast.  They fear that some greater evil might arise to replace it.”

Philip refused to refer to the wicked fairy Maleficent, of whose existence Rose had just recently learned, by her name or as a woman.  It was Rose’s opinion that referring to her as some kind of monstrous creature only made her sound even more frightening, but who was she to argue?  She supposed she must have personally seen Maleficent at some point before the wicked fairy places her under the Sleeping Curse from which she had just awoken, but she did not remember, and so had no tangible ground upon which to judge how Maleficent ought to be referred to.

According to Philip, upon his escape from Maleficent's fortress, the creature in question had transformed herself into a fearsome dragon, which Philip had defeated with his sword.  After he'd slain the dragon, it fell into the valley below, where it morphed back into its usual form, a green-skinned human-like being.  The Good Fairies had acquired some special magic for just such an event, and together they had imprisoned the creature, in case it should awaken.

“Well, I agree,” said Rose.

Phillip laughed lightly.  “You agree, do you?” he asked, patting her hands.  “And why is that?”

Suddenly Rose felt very stupid.  "It...well, it would be different if she had died in battle," she began, and felt her cheeks flushing hot as Philip's condescending smile widened.  "Now it seems...well, it seems unnecessary, doesn't it?  To take her life when she is already imprisoned?  Perhaps she could come to regret—"

Apparently this was too much for Philip, for he began to laugh, and when he put his arm around her shoulders fondly, she very much wanted to shrug it off.  “My sweet, sweet Aurora.  Such a kind heart.”

Briar Rose wanted to cry.  “Why are you laughing at me?”

Philip attempted to sober himself, but his face was red from the effort.  “That creature is pure evil," he said simply, like it was nothing.  "It could never feel any sort of human emotions.”

Rose frowned, “How can you be so sure?”

Philip shook his head and kissed her, and then rose from the bed.  “I do wonder what it must be like inside your pretty head, my Aurora,” he said fondly.  “But I must be off.  There is still much to discuss.”

Rose had spent much of her time, particularly recently, wishing desperately for someone to talk to who was not one of her non-aunts.  They were very dear to her, but they were all she had ever known, and she wanted very much to know other things.  To say that she had been devastated when she learned that her entire life was a lie would be something of an understatement, and it had been a great source of comfort to her—perhaps the only source—when she learned that Philip would be a part of this new life.  She did not know him, exactly, but she knew that he loved her, that he had fought a fearsome dragon to rescue her, and that he would not let any harm come to her.

What was more, Philip had led the life Rose might have known if not for Maleficent’s curse.  Minus all the dragon-hunting and sword-fighting, of course.  Rose had hoped that he might understand how lost and how out-of-step she felt in King Stefan’s castle.  She had hoped that he would stay by her side while she experienced these new and frightening things, and that when they were alone she might sometimes ask him questions about his life, about all the things Princess Aurora might have known, but Briar Rose did not.

It wasn't precisely that Philip had no time for her—indeed, she saw quite a lot of him.  But whenever he arrived, the way he said her name threw her all out of sorts, and then he had something else on his mind, and whenever Briar Rose endeavoured to speak, he laughed at her, and whenever she asked a question, he made some excuse to leave, and by the nighttime he quickly became preoccupied with matters which were not conducive to talking.

The result was that Briar Rose was left feeling terribly alone, all shut up in her room, waiting for someone to visit and not really speak to her.  She supposed she understood why she was meant to stay here.  The Sleeping Curse had left her weak, and the days that followed had left her vague and overwhelmed.  Still, she longed for the days when she might take a walk through the forest whenever she pleased, so long as the sun was shining and she promised not to speak to anyone.  It had been a small freedom, yet now by comparison she could not help but to feel a prisoner in her own home.

Strange, how not a handful of days had passed, and the expanse of Briar Rose's life with her aunties in the cottage in the woods felt like it might very well have belonged to someone else.  Strange, how in not a handful of days, after the great adventure she supposed those around her must have had, Briar Rose's life had been torn asunder, and now she found herself more or less back where she'd begun.  Waiting for life to happen to her was just as disheartening in a castle as in a cottage.

Her aunties came by far less often than Philip did.  Perhaps they sensed that she was still hesitant to see them after learning of their great list of lies.  Perhaps not.  The last time she checked, they seemed to believe that the only reason Rose had been so upset on the night of her sixteenth birthday was because of the arranged marriage which would keep her from the boy she had met in the woods.  How could she even begin to explain that it was so much more than that, that it was hardly even related?  How could they understand what it was to learn that the very fabric of her universe had unraveled before her?

Briar Rose supposed she ought to try to show her aunties the understanding she so longed for, but that was proving rather difficult under the circumstances.  Her aunties, who were also the Good Fairies who gave counsel to the King, who was also her father, had decreed that Rose was to remain confined to her room until the matter of the wicked fairy Maleficent had been attended to.  After that, she was to begin proper lessons in things like reading, writing, and court etiquette.  It wasn’t that Rose had no knowledge of these things—her aunts had tried valiantly to give her lessons, but they had bored her dreadfully.  After all, why would a simple peasant girl such as herself ever have any use for such nonsense?

Rose squeezed her eyes closed against the thought, the way the ideas of herself as the peasant Briar Rose and the Princess Aurora stood so thoroughly at odds with one another, and turned her attention to another troubling matter.

The wicked fairy called Maleficent troubled Rose quite a bit.  It would have been one thing if she had died in battle, but she hadn't.  She had survived, somehow, impossibly, and the King's guardsmen had chained her up in the dungeons while she slept.  Wasn't that supposed to be the end of it?  If one had committed an atrocity, one ought to be imprisoned, so that she might reflect upon her misdeeds.  To have her executed when she was already thusly imprisoned?  What purpose did it serve?

It seemed...spiteful.  A display of power, a needless crow of triumph over a woman who had already lost the battle.

If anyone ought to be angry with Maleficent, it was Rose.  Maleficent had condemned Rose—or more precisely, the Princess Aurora, to death when she was just a baby, and had not done anything at all.  Indeed, it was because of this condemnation that Rose had become Rose for sixteen years, and now had to become the Princess Aurora again, and pretend that none of that, the entirety of her existence, had ever happened at all.

Rose knew this, had heard the story of the Lost Princess all her life, had been told over and over the last handful of days, and yet she could not connect the story to herself.  She could bring herself to blame Maleficent for her misfortune, for they had never even met.  It felt a bit like blaming nothing at all.

Rose was beginning to feel impossibly restless, like the walls of her room were closing in around her.  They must be discussing the matter at hand right now, within the walls of this very castle, and here was she, confined to her room like an errant child.  She wanted to know what was going on—know for herself, with her own eyes and ears.  She did not want to wait here for Philip to return, to tell her whatever fragment of the truth he deemed appropriate for her to hear.

Rose approached the door, fueled by the fire of a sudden impulse.  She felt light-headed when she stood, wobbly in the knees when she walked, and she leaned heavily upon the door's handle when she reached it.  Her heart fluttered.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, even went so far as to shake her head at the absurdity of her own hesitancy.  The door wasn't locked.  It wasn't as though she were truly a prisoner here.  She was meant to stay in her room for her own health, but what was the worst that could happen to her if she were to take a little walk by herself?

She nodded firmly to herself as she pulled the door open, and did her best to swallow down the terrible rush of guilt that followed.

The meeting in question was surprisingly easy to find.  Philip's voice echoed through the stone corridors, and Aunt Flora's followed after it, quieter, but sharper.  The words were unintelligible from where Rose stood paralyzed in the middle of the hallway, and she felt a fresh wave of guilt and terror at the prospect of committing to her designs to eavesdrop.  She approached the proper door slowly, certain her knees would give out beneath her with each step.

“No, that wouldn’t do at all,” Aunt Flora was saying.  “Rose—Aurora…has been through so much already.  What could she possibly gain by encountering Maleficent?”

“But Flora, you know Rose!  She—”

“Aurora.”

“Rose or Aurora, she’s too curious for her own good,” finished Merryweather.  “Don’t you think she’ll want to know who cursed her?”

“Aurora is weak, as you’ve all seen.  It was a very great shock to her that anyone wanted her dead at all.”

“And why shouldn’t it be?”

“My point, Merryweather, is that I can see no reason for her to speak with Maleficent before the trial, and I can see many reasons against it.”

A trial?  What would a trial decide?

“But won’t it be a greater shock when she attends the trial, seeing Maleficent for the first time?”

“Fauna!  Aurora wouldn’t attend the trial!  How absurd!”

“Well, I just thought, because it has so very much to do with her—”

“What Maleficent has done has little to do with Aurora and much to do with Stefan and Leah,” Flora said firmly.  “Besides, would you have kind-hearted Aurora listen to a death-sentence?”

“I suppose not.”

Rose backed away from the door, or more precisely, she staggered backward, overcome by a wave of something akin to nausea.  She raced back to her room on trembling legs and slammed the door closed with the full weight of her body, heart thundering in her ears as she struggled to steady her laboured brreathing.

She had the dreadful sense that Philip had lied to her, with an easy deliberation that turned her stomach afresh, and that her aunts were planning to lie to her, too.  Had she not endured enough falsehoods for one lifetime?

Rose inhaled deeply.  She oughtn't to jump to conclusions.  Perhaps Philip and her aunts were truly just trying to protect her.  Perhaps Maleficent was to have a fair trial, and on the off-chance that the court decided in favour of...of death, well then they did not want Rose to have to witness such a thing.  Perhaps they knew how Rose felt about the matter, and they knew that Rose would mourn Maleficent even if her demise was for the best.

Rose knew she ought to be angry with Maleficent.  Maleficent had stolen her life from her twice over.  She knew this, and yet she could not bring herself to believe it.  She could not imagine how this person, who had perhaps meant to kill her but had not managed it, deserved to die.

Maleficent was already imprisoned.  If one had committed an atrocity, one ought to be imprisoned, so that she might reflect upon her misdeeds.  Suppose Maleficent came to regret her actions, as Rose had been trying to say to Philip earlier?  People acted rashly.  They made bad decisions.  Did they deserve to die for them?  If Maleficent were put to death, that would be the end of her.  She would be robbed of even the barest chance to see the error of her ways.

Something Aunt Fauna had said caught in Rose's mind, caught like fire and began to spread.  As soon as she noticed it there, as soon as she put a name to her desire, she knew she must follow it, or she would burn forever for the knowledge.

Rose had to go and speak to Maleficent.

This might very well be her only chance.  No doubt everyone would want this trial over quickly, and apparently her husband and her former guardians had decided to keep her very much in the dark on the matter.  Now that she knew—and especially now that she knew no one wanted her to know—Rose absolutely had to know more.

At the very least, it would get her out of this room.  It had on more than one occasion occurred to Rose that doing as she was told wasn’t going to get her the adventure she so craved.  If she continued to wait idly by as she'd been doing, longing for life to happen, in this particular instance, death might happen in the meantime.

Late that night, when Philip was snoring lightly and evenly, Rose crept from their bed and out of the room.  She had only a vague idea of where she might find a dungeon—namely, underground—and so she wandered the castle with nothing but the vague aim of finding a way downward.

It was the first time Rose had seen much of the castle, and in this way, her very first adventure held far more excitement than she had anticipated.  Though she found the main stairway with relative ease, she doubted that was her best course of action.  She wandered past perhaps a dozen closed doors, musing that the castle was much bigger than it appeared to be from the outside, until she came upon another, smaller stairwell.  This one struck her as eerily familiar, and as she made her way downward, she realized that these stairs also led up to the tower room.

Rose hazarded a glance over her shoulder at the path she only vaguely remembered taking, guided by a green light and an entrancing voice, and she felt a shiver course through her.  The familiarity felt much more akin to a strange dream than to a memory, and the dream-memory ended with the top of the stairs.  Though she had been plagued by a plethora of disturbing nightmares while she slept, the next thing Briar Rose remembered (which could have even feasibly happened) was awakening to Philip’s smiling face.

When Rose reached the bottom of two flights of winding stairs, she was greeted with an open door revealing a hallway much like the one she had just left and another door made of metal bars separating her from another flight of stairs leading downward.  It seemed Rose’s search was complete.

The door made of metal bars appeared to be locked, but the lock did very little, as the door was not properly closed.  It made an ear-splitting creak when Rose pulled it open, but Rose knew all too well that no one in the main part of the castle could hear anything going on in this stairwell.  If the Good Fairies crying out for help and the voice of the very wicked fairy who posed such an immediate threat to the kingdom did not alert the scores of guests to the castle that evening, Rose doubted that a screeching door in an old fortress would catch anyone’s ear now.

Rose had to hold onto the wall and feel her way down each step, for all of the sconces in this part of the stairwell had burnt out.  She could see a faint glowing light around the bend, but that did not help her find her footing on the winding staircase.

At last, Rose began to see the faint outlines of steps, and then she ran out of steps and continued along level ground.

“A visitor?” a voice called from the darkness, and Rose very nearly jumped.  The voice was soft and low, almost frail, but resonant, so that Rose could tell that the sound was a mere echo of the power that voice could hold.

It was almost familiar.  But as soon as this thought crossed her mind, Rose felt that she had never truly heard it before, only its shadow, closer to a dream than a memory.

Rose dared another step forward, then another, still bracing herself with a hand against the stone walls.  As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she saw that there were bars.  Behind the bars, she could just make out a shadowy figure of a person, possibly seated, definitely in chains.

“I was not expecting anyone so late.  More secrets, I suppose?”

Rose continued her cautious approach, scarcely dared to breathe, concetrated on making each footstep quieter than the last.  She wanted very much to get a better look at the shadowy figure before it got a look at her.

The figure raised its head, and there was a faint rattling of metal.  “My dear sir, you insult me,” it said.  “I can hear you.  Step into the light, if you please.”

Embarrassment seemed an odd thing to feel, and yet, of course Rose hadn't been fooling anyone but herself.  Still, she did as she was told and stepped into the light.

As she revealed herself, so was the shadowy figure revealed to her.  The prisoner was a woman with long, ragged dark hair and long, slender limbs.  Her skin was possibly tan or olive, and her facial features were very sharp even in near-darkness.  Rose thought she could make out scars across the woman’s face.  Despite the fact that she was positively dripping in heavy chains, there was a regality to her, something commanding in her mere presence.

“Well," she said and Rose could see the glint of torchlight upon her teeth as she smiled.  “The Princess Aurora.  I hope you will forgive me if I do not bow,” she bowed her head, but judging from the numerous chains, that was probably the only part of her body she could move.  “To what do I owe this most surprising visit?”

Rose was quite surprised, herself, by such an amiable greeting.  Emboldened by the prisoner’s apparent willingness to talk, she stepped a little closer.  “Are you Mistress Maleficent?” she asked.

Again the light glinted off of her teeth.  “At your service.”

Rose shivered.  “Philip said…he said his sword pierced you straight through the heart.  How is it that you’re alive?”

“It pierced my dragon form in the chest.  The anatomy of dragons and fairies is understandably rather different.”

Rose considered this, “But still, it must have been an awful wound.”

“Yes, quite,” Maleficent agreed.  She waited a moment.  When Rose said nothing in response, she continued.   “However, wicked fairies are very difficult to kill, you know.  As long as we survive the initial damage, our bodies can usually heal themselves.”

“Truly?” Rose asked, and dared another step forward without fully meaning to.  “That’s remarkable!  I admit I know nothing of wicked fairies.”

“But you know of good ones,” Maleficent offered.

Rose bit her lip, “I didn’t know that I knew of them.”

“Hm,” Maleficent nodded.  “Heaven forbid they should warn you of the peril you faced.”

Rose was going to agree passionately, but suddenly she remembered exactly whom she was talking to, and she felt the need to defend her fairy aunts.  “They were only trying to protect me.”

“And a fine job they did of it,” Maleficent said, and the amusement in her voice sent a chill down Rose’s spine.  “Sending puffs of their oh-so-colourful magic up into the air for any passer-by to see.”

She should have defended them a bit better, perhaps, but she did not feel up to it at the moment.

“But that is a matter of little interest to me,” Maleficent said.  “What is of great interest to me, Princess, is why you have come to visit me.”

Rose suddenly found it very difficult to breathe.  “I…well, I…”

“Have you come to lay eyes upon the monster who wanted you dead?”  Rose’s knees nearly buckled under her, and she grasped at the nearby wall for support.  Maleficent chuckled.  “It’s as good a reason as any.  This is likely your only chance.  Tell me, am I what you expected, Princess?”

Rose bit her lip as she contemplated posing the question she desperately needed to ask.  “Only chance?” she managed at last.  “Philip said that they were going to…well, to keep you here.”

“Hmm,” Maleficent thought for a moment.  “Perhaps he thinks you too kind-hearted to handle the truth.” She tilted her head slightly.  “Or too weak.”

Rose swallowed hard against a lump in her throat, and struggled to steadied herself.  She chose her next words carefully, trying not to sound as frightened as she felt.  “Do you think me too weak to handle the truth?”

Maleficent considered her with an eerie kind of stillness.  “The truth," she said at last, "is that King Stefan has assembled a council of sorts to perform a trial, but it’s all for show for the Good Fairies, who hold the bizarre belief that if they kill me, some greater evil will rise to replace me.  The King wants me dead, however, and so dead I shall be.”

The words caused Rose’s heart to wrench painfully in her chest, and she felt her eyes begin to water.  “I was told King Stefan was a kind man.”

Maleficent said nothing for a long moment, then gave a sort of half-chuckle.  “You are very kind-hearted, aren’t you?”

Suddenly empowered by the strength of her emotion, Rose approached the bars that caged the wicked fairy.  Rose’s breath caught in her throat.

Wide, dark eyes watched her carefully, dramatically arched eyebrows furrowed in suspicion.  The fairy’s lips were a deep red, and across her mouth in a jagged line ran one of two prominent scars on her face.  The second was across the middle of her face, carved across her nose.  Her hair stuck out at odd angles, and some of it was plastered to her face as though by sweat.  Apart from the scars, her skin was...impossibly smooth, flawless, and it was...  From afar in the dim light, it had looked like a darker natural skin tone, but it was green.  Her skin was a light shade of green.

The prisoner was truly a wicked fairy, a creature out of a myth or a legend come to life before her eyes, forged from flesh and bone.  The wicked fairy Maleficent was the most beautiful creature Rose had ever seen. 

Rose felt her heart beating in her throat, and without meaning to, she leaned closer to the bars.  Maleficent, who had recovered her stoic facial expression, raised her eyebrows as if in a challenge.  Rose slowly, carefully reached up and touched one of the bars.  She waited a moment, then reached past the bars and touched the sharpness of Maleficent’s prominent cheekbone with her fingertips.

Maleficent’s expression of aloof haughtiness changed abruptly.  She curled her lip and something rather like alarm danced across her dark eyes  Rose rent her hand away as though scalded.

In a motion so quick Rose might not have caught it had she not been so close, Maleficent’s eyes flicked down to Rose’s hand and back up, assessing whether the danger of being touched again had passed.  Rose rested her hand on one of the bars in silent apology.

“So tell me, _Princess_ ,” she hissed with a little tilt of her head, her cool demeanour instantly restored, and Rose could not help but notice how dark and expressive her eyes were as they reflected the dim candlelight, “has the gallant Prince Philip secured your happy ending for you?  Have all of your dreams come true?”

Rose bit her lip and looked down, focusing her eyes on Maleficent’s hands, which were, as could be expected, as long and spindly as the rest of her body, and which were confined by chains that did not look the same as the others.  She could think of no answer to offer this beautiful and terrifying woman who was bound and chained and condemned to death.

“I…I never wanted any of this,” she said at last, but that was hardly an answer at all.  She looked up into those captivating dark eyes, which now regarded her with a glint of curiosity.

“The chains around my wrists have caught your eye,” she said.  Rose felt her cheeks flush, but she supposed Maleficent couldn’t tell in this light.  She nodded.

“They’re quite remarkable, really, if magical artifacts interest you.”

“They do,” Rose replied quickly, before she could think better of it.  Perhaps _terrified_ was a better term, but magic fascinated every bit as much as it frightened.  Briar Rose had grown up surrounded by magic, enveloped in it, even chased by it, and yet she had not known!

Maleficent's lips quirked upward into a small smirk, and she lifted her hands so that the odd chains stood out.  “The light fae and the dark, or the Good and the Wicked, as they are commonly called, have been sworn enemies for millennia.  Their magic has grown so disparate as to be unrecognizable to one another, even inimical.  Some good fairies are very powerful—they make your three little old aunts look comical by comparison—”

Rose flinched involuntarily at the word _aunt_.  She was sure it did not escape Maleficent’s notice, but Maleficent continued speaking, anyway.  “Most good fairies live by a set of rules, a code which states that they must protect humankind, and that they may not directly harm another creature.”

This caught Rose’s attention.  The way Philip boasted of his battle with the dragon, it was as though he had fought it alone.  She suddenly wondered whether that made sense.  “Did they…” Rose bit her lip.  It seemed stupid to ask Maleficent any questions at all, and yet in the past few minutes, she had learned more than she had in years from anyone else.  “Did the good fairies…enchant Philip?  To…to fight you?”

Maleficent let out a small huff of amusement, “Of course they did!  Mortals are no match for the wicked fae!"  She looked up, as much as she was able, as though looking past Briar Rose, and even the walls of the dungeon itself.  "My kin have fought singlehandedly against entire armies and won.  We can take out hundreds, even thousands of men at once.”

Against her better judgement, Rose leaned in closer.

“I don’t know where your little fairies acquired these,” she said, indicating her chains.  “They are specifically designed to render a wicked fairy powerless.  They suffocate our magic, so to speak, and slowly, over time, drain it."

Rose inhaled sharply, “But that means—if they simply left you here, alive, you would lose your magic?”

“Correct,” Maleficent nodded.  “Not all of it, of course, but after…perhaps a decade, my magic would be too weak to do much of anything besides keeping me alive.”

“But then,” Rose bit her lip and looked away, “I don’t understand why they intend to…to kill you.”

Maleficent tilted her head and studied Rose for a moment with those piercing, dark eyes, shining with torchlight.  “It is a much better ending to their story, isn’t it?  The evil beast was vanquished and the Prince and Princess lived happily ever after?”

Rose wanted to cry.  “That isn’t a very good reason to take someone’s life.”

“You know,” Maleficent began slowly, softly, “another interesting thing about these chains is that they have no key.”

“What?” Rose looked up.  “Then they can never come off?”

Maleficent shook her head, “They can come off at any time.  Anyone may remove them... except for a wicked fairy.”

Rose’s eyes widened.  “That’s…well, it’s odd, isn’t it?”

“Presumptuous.  Arrogant.  Or odd, yes,” the smile upon Maleficent's lips now seemed daring, even dangerous.  “So I have a proposition for you, Princess Aurora.”

“A…a proposition?”

“You implied earlier that you are unhappy," said Maleficent.  "I don’t know to what extent you’re aware, but I am a rather powerful sorceress.  If you were to set me free, there is little I could not give you in return for your mercy.”

Rose’s eyes flickered down to the chains on Maleficent’s wrists, and then back up to those dark, dancing eyes, down to the ruby red lips, over the scars, and for one wild moment, anything seemed possible.  Maleficent’s expression was impassive, but Rose knew what her request meant.  It was the difference between life and death.

Suddenly something very important which had slipped Rose’s mind came crashing back to her, and she staggered away from the cell as though burned.  “You want to kill me.”

Maleficent’s features formed a strange, unreadable expression and she averted her eyes for a moment.  “As I’m sure you have surmised, if you were to set me free, you would be saving my life.  I suppose it depends upon how you assess my character as to whether you believe I would truly repay that kindness by taking yours.”  She sighed, “In any event, I only ask that you consider it, Princess.  I have nothing to lose by asking, and I doubt your Prince will be permitted to execute me tomorrow.”

This, or perhaps a combination of things, made Rose’s stomach churn and her blood run hot.  “You’ve been lying this whole time, haven’t you?  You’ve just been trying to manipulate me into helping you so you can carry out your plan!  Well,” she almost shouted, backing up haphazardly until her hands hit the opposing wall, “I am not the weak little fool everyone thinks I am!  I will not die of stupidity before I have even lived!”

Rose ran around the corner and staggered up the dark and winding stairs.  She tripped and stumbled more than a few times, for she could not bring herself to slow down, to breathe, to think.

She ran all the way up the stairs, barely even fazed by the peculiar familiarity of a half-remembered dream.  She raced back to her room and slid carefully back into bed next to Philip, who was still snoring quietly even as Rose's laboured breathing seemed unbearably loud.  She turned to face away from him and began to shiver violently.  She tried to think of old songs to drown out her thoughts, but they kept resurfacing from the swirling melodies to haunt her.

She turned over again, restlessly, and considered her sleeping husband, the man who had risked everything to save her.  Ot perhaps he had only been enchanted to do so by the good fairies.  Perhaps this legendary fight, of which he told everyone who would listen, was nothing more than a set-up by the three women who had been lying to Rose since she was a baby.

She thought of Maleficent, exquisitely beautiful even in chains, frighteningly powerful even in her weakest state.  She imagined what it would be like to see her at her best, and she imagined that it would be unbearable.  Rose could scarcely handle Maleficent behind bars.  She would be completely overwhelmed by Maleficent free, devastatingly beautiful, glowing with the force of her devastating magic.

Rose now held Maleficent's life in her hands, and this, too, was terrifying.  She almost hated Maleficent for it.  She knew now that her heart would ache for Maleficent every day of the rest of her life if she did not set her free, for it was now officially Rose’s fault if that exquisite creature was put to death.

But what if it wasn’t her fault at all?  There was the very, very distinct possibility that Maleficent had been manipulating Rose throughout the greater part of the conversation, as soon as she had realized that Rose might be gullible enough to help her.  What if Rose would be smart to let the wicked fairy die, even though Rose, personally, thought it was spiteful and unnecessary to kill her?  What if her aunts and her husband were really trying to do what was best for her?

Several hours later, still ensconced in the same argument with the same points, and not a single step closer to a satisfactory solution, Briar Rose fell into a restless sleep.


	2. The Decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one also didn't change much--mostly fixing style/tightening narrative voice.

Briar Rose's dreams were not unexpected.  She dreamt that she decided to free Maleficent, and that Maleficent transformed from the quiet, broken creature in chains into the fearsome monster of legend, and that the monster proceeded to chase Rose through an appropriately nightmarish obstacle course consisting of frightening elements from her recent past.  Rose called out to Philip, reached for him, begged him to help her, but he patted her head and called her Aurora and told her she must have been dreaming.

Rose ran and ran and ran until her feet tangled on nothing and she fell.  The monster, the dragon of legend, swooped down over her, eclipsed the light of the moon with its monstrous wings, and wrapped her up in its enormous talons.  She screamed and sobbed and begged for her life, and she awoke in Philips arms, still fighting to escape the claws of an imaginary monster.

“Aurora!  Aurora!”

"Let me go, let me go, let me go!" she was sobbing, but the monster would not relent.

“Aurora, my love, calm down.  It was only a dream!”

“I'm not Aurora!” Rose screeched, and with the last of her strength, she finally succeeded in throwing Philip off of her.  He rolled off the bed and landed on the floor with a murmur of surprise.

Rose collapsed, panting, tears still streaming down her cheeks even as she could barely feel the way her body contracted with each exhausted sob.  Gradually, the waking world came into focus.  There was no monster.  The monster had been defeated.  The monster was in chains.

Stunned silence reigned between them for a long, heavy moment.  Philip righted himself and began to stand.  "What do you mean, you're not Aurora?" he wondered, shaking his head.  "That must have been some dream."

Rose closed her eyes, dragged the sleeve of her nightdress across her face to dry her tears.  "I'm just Briar Rose," she replied, feeling rather more like she wasn't anyone at all, like she might just as well belong to the nightmare world from whence she had come.

Philip sat at her side and reached for her hair.  "No, Aurora," he said, in the slow, placating tone of one who thought he understood.  "You've been Aurora since the day you were born."

Impossibly, Rose felt fresh tears prickling at her eyes.  She squeezed them closed and swallowed hard.  "Perhaps," she whispered.  "But what of all the time between then and now?"

The heavy, exasperated sigh that followed was more answer than Briar Rose had ever wished to hear.

 “Aurora," Philip began sternly, in the tone of one who felt he was struggling valiantly, "I know it must have been very frightening for you…these past couple of weeks.  But it all worked out, didn’t it?"  His hand in her hair felt all wrong, warm and heavy and clumsy.  "We’re together, and you have everything you want, and the evil sorcerer has been…has been captured.  So.  So there’s no need to cry about it anymore.  All of that is in the past now.”

Rose opened her eyes.  "Is it?" she wondered.  She frowned up at Philip.  "Is it really?"

The look of realization dawning upon Philip's face was a curious thing to witness.  It wasn't a charitable thought, but he wasn't usually very perceptive.  Perhaps his guilty conscience had aided him.

"You know," he breathed, almost comically aghast.

Rose tried to laugh.  It came out like a shuddering sigh.  "Was it such a big secret?"

"For good reason!"  Philip stood, and Rose tried to follow.  She pushed herself up on her elbows and fought against the spinning in her head.

"I knew this would happen if you found out.  Aurora, you have to understand—"

"Stop!" Rose choked out.

"Aurora!  That creature would—"

"My name is _not_ Aurora!" Rose cried, perhaps screamed, as she scrambled to her feet.  The room was spinning and her knees were weak and her stomach was churning horribly, but she could not endure this, could not allow—  "That creature, Maleficent?  Perhaps she has done terrible things.  How should I know?  You only tell me what you think I ought to hear, so I don't know!  But she is—  She is..."

Rose steadied herself at last on the bedside table, and the waking world came into focus in the grey light of early morning.  Philip looked so different now from the boy she'd met in the woods, from the boy whose smiling face had awakened her when she woke from her cursed slumber.  The lines of his face were...hard, unyielding.  And his eyes were cold.

"She is a _person_ ," Rose finished, quietly, almost pleading.  "Just like me, just like you.  And she does not deserve to die.  Not like this."

“Aurora, stop it!” Philip demanded, too loud, all hard lines and cold eyes.  He grabbed her by the arms, too hard, and when she struggled he pushed her back down onto the bed.  “Stop it, you’ll hurt yourself," he was saying, almost yelling.  " I’m going to go and get the Good Fairies and see if they can calm you down.”

“Rose?  Rose, what’s wrong?  What’s going on up here?”

Philip let go of Rose's arms.  Rose didn't try to move again.  She touched the place where he'd grabbed her, stunned at how his grasp had hurt.

"Mistress Flora," Philip was saying above her, calmer now, more deferent.  "You called her Rose."

 “Oh, excuse me, Your Highness," said Aunt Flora.  "Old habits die…hard,” the word trailed off as she met Rose's searching gaze..  “Are you all right, dear?”

“No, she is most certainly not all right," said Philip, long before Rose could even think to respond.  "She’s been raving for half an hour, saying she isn't Aurora, she's Briar Rose.  Why do you think that could be?”

Flora looked horrified, “Aurora, dear…”  She reached a hand out to Rose, who recoiled, instinctively.  Her first thought, however irrational, was of the way her arms still throbbed faintly.  She didn't want to be hurt anymore.  She didn't know hands could hurt like that.

“And there’s something else, Mistress Flora," Philip continued.  "It seems Aurora has found out about the situation with the beast in the dungeons.”

Flora's attention was immediately redirected to Philip, “What?  But how?”

“How, indeed,” Philip folded his arms, stern in the way of a man who has been raised to be a king.  “Mistress Flora, I suggest you take greater care in the future.  If this is the way you keep a secret from a mere girl, I must call into doubt your abilities as King’s Counsel.”

Flora bowed deeply.  Something about it turned Rose's stomach.  “I understand, Your Highness.  I shall be more careful in the future.”  She turned to Rose.  “Now, R…Aurora, dear, I know these past few weeks must have been very frightening for you, but—”

Before Rose could stop herself, before she could even think of what she meant to say, words came spilling out, harsh and vitriolic.  "Don't you dare tell me that everything worked out,” she spat.

Flora backed away, looking almost frightened.  Somewhere, deep down, Rose felt a dreadful wave of guilt threatening to overtake her, but she could not bring herself to abide it.

"Aurora, you will not speak to me that way," said Flora, but even as she attempted a mask of sternness, fear shone brightly in her eyes.

For a mad, terrible moment, Briar Rose felt that it was good to be feared.

Rose pushed herself to her feet, pushed past Philip and past her auntie, and she stormed out the door into the hallway wearing nothing but her nightdress.  It seemed both Aunt Flora and Philip were too stunned to stop her.  They called after her, eventually, starting with Aurora and moving onto Rose, but by that time, Rose was running, racing for the stairs that led up to the topmost tower and down to the deepest dungeon, uncertain of her intention but unwilling to yield without a fight.

A mere girl, indeed!

Rose ran down the winding stairs in the darkness, narrowly avoided tripping over herself in her haste, and she rounded the corner into the torchlight, breathless, with her heartbeat thundering in her ears.  The shadowy figure behind the bars, a broken creature in chains and not a monster of legend, considered her with eyes that seemed to glow in the near-darkness.

"Princess Aurora," said Maleficent,quietly, tone unreadable.  "I confess...I was expecting someone quite different."

Rose didn't speak, hadn't even the faintest idea of what to say.  Her laboured breathing filled the silence as she warred with the icy terror that wrapped around her heart.  Distantly, she knew what had brought her here, but now that the eyes of the monster were upon her, impassive, awaiting her word, Briar Rose could not bring herself to speak.

Somewhere up above them, her pursuers gained ground.

“Aurora!  Aurora, where are you?”

“What are you doing down there?”

Rose frowned to herself.  Was there any turning back?  What would await her if she gave into them now?

“Aurora!”

An asylum, most likely.

Maleficent waited in silence, and Rose could not see her face.

“If I release you,” Rose breathed, little more than a raspy whisper, “where will you go?”

“As far away as I can, I imagine,” Maleficent said, surprised, her voice almost...mirthful.  “What is it you want in return, Princess?”

“I want you to take me with you.”

For a moment, time seemed to stop.  Silence reigned between them, even above them.  The only sound was of Rose trying and failing to catch her breath.  Then, suddenly, there was a terrible clamour of footsteps on the stairs.

"Aurora!  Aurora!"

“As you wish,” Maleficent said, almost inaudibly, and Rose heard the shifting of chains.

Rose rushed forward.  Staggered, perhaps, and landed with her hands on the bars of the cell.  Her eyes locked with Maleficent’s as soon as she could see them, and the intensity therein seemed to rob her of what little air remained in her lungs.  The wicked fairy Maleficent was gazing up at her, black eyes shining as though with tears, wrists held out to her, a silent plea for mercy.

Rose reached through the bars and touched the chains on Maleficent’s wrists with the tips of her fingers.  The chains fell away instantly and clattered to the floor.

The clamouring footsteps came nearer.  Maleficent leaned her head back and inhaled deeply, and a smile crept across her lips as the mountain of chains cascaded from her body.

 “Aurora?  Aurora!”

“What are you doing over there?  There’s nothing to—”

Maleficent chuckled darkly.  Rose's heart leapt.  The voices and the footsteps stopped at once.

Rose turned around.  Philip and her three aunties stood aghast, staring at Maleficent, horrified faces bathed in an eerie green light that seemed to emanate from nowhere and everywhere all at once.

“Rose,” breathed Fauna with a little sob, “What have you done?”

Rose returned her attention to Maleficent.  Not much had changed about her physical appearance.  She was very tall when she stood, and it emphasized the too-long, bone-thin build of her limbs.  Her dark hair still stuck out in odd directions, and now in the light the ends appeared to be charred as though from a fire.  Her clothes were tattered, and they revealed a few nasty scars to rival the prominent ones across her face.

Somehow, there was no vulnerability to her anymore.  The things which made her appear weak—her bedraggled appearance, her emaciated frame, the angry scars of recent injury—only contributed to the overwhelming sense that none of that—indeed, nothing at all—could stop her now.

The bars of Maleficent’s cell literally melted away into shimmering puddles on the floor, and Maleficent walked forward slowly and deliberately.  Rose shrank away, while Philip puffed out his chest and stepped forward as if to challenge her, though Rose knew now that his only real weapons were the Good Fairies, who looked as petrified as Rose felt.

Maleficent afforded Philip a haughty once-over, smirked, and then turned her head to Rose and offered her hand.  Rose narrowly avoided losing her tenuous grasp on consciousness, but there was no turning back now.  Perhaps there never had been.  Rose straightened her shoulders and reached for Maleficent's hand.

It was ice cold, and her grip was like a vise.  A vision of the monster in Rose's nightmare flashed before her eyes, with long, spindly talons that curled around her and wouldn't let go.  Rose hazarded a glance at Philip and the three good fairies, but they stood still as stone, slack-jawed and dead-eyed with terror.  Maleficent raised her free hand and made a sweeping gesture, almost like a wave goodbye, and then they were gone.

Suddenly it seemed as though they were nowhere, and also perhaps flying through the air, and Rose felt nothing beneath her feet.  She clung to Maleficent with a small noise of terror that didn't seem to escape her throat, and Maleficent accommodated her by wrapping long, thin arms around her.  Just when Rose began to feel distinctly embarrassed for her behavior, her feet met solid ground, and they were somewhere again.

Rose collapsed into what felt like dry grass as soon as Maleficent let her go.  Her legs were trembling from the effort of holding her up throughout the entirety of her mad journey this evening.  The cool air and the prickling of the grass against her legs reminded her that she was only wearing her nightgown, and she felt suddenly quite exposed, even though she had spent the better part of the evening running about the castle in just such a manner.

 _No going back now_ , her mind offered unhelpfully, but she hadn't even the energy to feel dread.  The air around them was uncharacteristically warm for what must be very early morning, though the sky was still dark.  She could not see very much except for the stars above her, and the faint outline of mountains that didn't look very far away.  Briar Rose had never seen real mountains.  Perhaps they had traveled quite a distance, as Maleficent had promised.

Rose looked around suddenly, in search of Maleficent.  It occurred to her, with a little jolt of fear, that Maleficent might have deposited her somewhere at random, away from the castle, but also away from herself, and Rose found the energy within herself to panic.  She couldn't survive on her own, had never truly been alone a single day in her life, let alone in an unfamiliar place.  Perhaps this was Maleficent's way of finishing her off without breaking her promise.

But the wicked fairy in question stood a short distance away, an imposing shadow in the dim light of the waning moon.  Rose considered how unusual an experience it must be to feel relief upon realizing that Maleficent had not left her alone.

"What time is it?" Rose wondered quietly.  This was certainly not her most burning question, but it was decidedly innocuous.

Maleficent turned her head as though surprised.  She considered Rose a moment before she returned her attention to whatever she had been surveying in the darkness.  "I don't know," she said.  “Four or five o’clock.  A few hours until dawn yet, by the look of the sky.”

"Where...where are we?" Rose dared.

"In the Land of the Two Rivers," said Maleficent.  "Not far from the Dragon Country."  She turned to face Rose again, approached and offered her hand.  Her fingers were still cold, despite the warmth of the night air.  Rose stood, but she had to lean heavily upon Maleficent's proffered arm, for she feared her legs would not support her.

"You must be very tired," Maleficent continued.  "I would have brought us directly to my home, but I have not been here in quite some time, and I was not certain what to expect.  This was a rather volatile territory when I left.”

It struck Rose as very odd that Maleficent had lived somewhere other than her legendary castle in the Forbidden Mountains.  Rose had only been personally aware of Maleficent's existence for a fortnight at most, and yet the way people spoke of her made her seem like some kind of ancient myth, distant, unreal, unchanging.  It was strange to think of her as a normal person who sometimes changed places of residence.

“How long ago did you leave this place?” Rose wondered.

Maleficent thought for a moment.  “More than a century ago,” she said at last, quietly. 

Rose’s eyes widened, and she struggled to wrap her mind around such a revelation.

“Do you feel well enough to walk now?” Maleficent asked.  If she had seen the surprise on Rose’s face, she politely ignored it.

“I think so,” Rose nodded.

Maleficent did not withdraw her arm, however, and though Rose tried very hard not to lean on it too much, she was certain she would have fallen without the help.  Maleficent continued to speak while they walked, “May I inquire as to the cause of your surprise, Highness?  It occurs to me that a century must seem like a very long time to you, but it isn't so long at all to a fairy.”

Rose was far too exhausted to think twice before she spoke.  "It's just that you don't look more than a century old," she said.  "How is it that you appear so young, while my aunties—I mean the Good Fairies...look so old?"  Once she'd finished her thought, embarrassment caught up with her, but to her surprise, Maleficent's response was a low chuckle that sounded almost good-natured.  Indeed, the sound would have been positively warm if her voice were not so chilling.

"Even Mistress Merryweather has a few centuries on me, Princess Aurora."

Before Briar Rose had time to contemplate the magnitude of such a revelation, the lurching, churning nausea from the evening's events returned with a vengeance, and she nearly staggered.  "Would you mind...calling me...  I mean, my name, it's..."

Maleficent waited, silent and eerily still, while Rose grasped at words she'd never found the courage to say to her husband.

"All my life, I've been called Briar Rose," she said.

 “Briar Rose,” Maleficent repeated quietly, and a very different sort of chill coursed through Rose’s body.  It felt so _good_ to hear someone use her real name, and not just anyone, but—  But that thought was entirely too much for her to wrap her weary mind around, and so she ignored it the best she could.  She realized, belatedly, that Maleficent was chuckling quietly.

“What?” she asked, feeling heat flood her cheeks.

“Nothing, nothing,” Maleficent said, but mirth still coloured her voice.  “It’s very subtle of them.”

Rose did not understand the joke, and she was fairly certain that it was at her expense.  Sure as she might have been a moment prior that she had cried herself out for one night, she felt fresh tears welling at her eyes, and she reached up to scrub them away.  Maleficent stopped walking.

“Forgive me, Your Highness,” she said, all amusement gone from her voice.  “I wasn’t laughing at you.”

Rose let go of Maleficent's arm and turned away.  "What do you care for my tears?" she scoffed up into the night sky.  "You're a wicked fairy who wants me dead, aren't you?  End my life and be done with me!  I'm obviously too foolish to live."

“That’s rather dramatic,” Maleficent said evenly.  “Anyway, I hardly intend to kill you after you’ve just saved my life.  It's very late…or early, depending upon your interpretation, and I daresay you could use a good night of sleep.  Let us continue our journey on foot, or I shall be forced to carry you like a child.  This is no place to be lurking about."

Rose turned around, tears of embarrassment streaming unchecked down her face, to find that Maleficent was offering her arm.  She could not see Maleficent’s face, merely the outline of her tall frame and the untidiness of her hair.  She was so still when she waited.  Feeling very ashamed, Rose took Maleficent’s arm and they continued to walk.

What had come over her?  Not just now, but all night?  Perhaps Philip and the good fairies were not so wrong to think she had succumbed to utter madness.  She had snapped at her husband and her auntie, she had gone running through the castle to offer her hand to the woman who wanted her dead, and now here they were, who knew how far away from Philip and her aunties and the castle and everything Briar Rose had ever known, everything with which she was even superficially acquainted!

Partially embedded into the side of a mountain stood a fortress.  It reminded Rose a little of the pictures she had seen of the Forbidden Mountains, the colloquial name for Maleficent's home to the south of Rose's kingdom, but the structure was not quite so angular.  Maleficent waved her free hand and the giant doors which made the grand entrance flew open.

Maleficent curled her fingers and conjured a flame, and she cast the flame upward and into several chandeliers that hung above them.  The room revealed itself, and several dozen rats and bats scattered away into the shadows.  Rose felt a terrible shiver course through her at the sight, and she hurried to find something else to think about.

This place was most certainly deserted, and had been for some time.  The furniture looked as though it had once been very impressive, but it had fallen into terrible disrepair, and everything was covered in a thick layer of dust.

Maleficent turned in a circle, surveying the room.  Rose stayed close.

“Well, fetch a broom,” Maleficent said to her.

“Wh-what?” Rose stammered, but Maleficent was already laughing quietly and walking away from her.  She made a sweeping gesture with her hands and the dust slipped away like a blanket.

“I confess I would get quite a kick out of seeing your three fairies cleaning without magic,” she said as she cast the blanket of dust away into nothingness.

Rose dared to smile, just a little.  “That really should have been my first clue.  I did most of the cooking and cleaning, since I was very small, because none of them ever really seemed to...to understand it, at all.  I found it sort of odd, how they never could catch on, but I never gave it much thought.”

Maleficent nodded to herself.  She considered the tattered remains of a table and chairs, and swirled her fingers until the splintered wood began to repair itself.  “Sixteen years is not a very long time to a fairy.  When one has lived for centuries with the ability to wave her hands and achieve nearly anything she can imagine, who wouldn't grow complacent?”

Rose bit the inside of her mouth for a moment, but decided to speak anyway.  “That would explain the gardening, too, I suppose.”

This caught Maleficent's attention.  Her dark eyes glittered.  “Even Flora?  That is her dominion, after all.”

Rose nodded fervently, “ _Especially_ Flora.  She was the only one who ever even bothered.  I remember I used to find her just standing and glaring at the flower boxes like they were offending her!  I always ended up watering the flowers, myself, because I couldn’t bear to see them die.  Aunt Flora got so upset,” she shook her head, caught between laughing and crying at the memory.

 Maleficent, who had ceased repairing furniture to engage in this conversation, seemed to sense Rose’s unease.  She returned her attention to her work.

Rose shook her head again, this time to clear her muddled thoughts.  “But didn’t they have to learn to do all of that with magic?  Wouldn’t that be just as difficult as learning to do it by hand?”

"I shouldn't think so," said Maleficent.  "I don’t even remember learning.  My sisters and I were assigned cooking and cleaning and gardening as chores, but it was just a wave of the hand.  It never took much time or effort.”

“You have sisters?”

Maleficent was silent for a moment, and she appeared to be concentrating very hard on a broken bookshelf.  “Had,” she said at last, softly.

Rose knew she oughtn't to press further.  Maleficent clearly did not want to talk about what had happened to her sisters.  At the same time, Rose got the impression that she had never talked about it, perhaps with anyone, and perhaps...  "What happened?" she dared, before she could think better of it.

Maleficent traced a scratch along the side of the bookshelf with her index finger.  "They were killed."

Rose took two tentative steps forward.  “How long ago?”

Maleficent looked up, but her focus was on the blank wall ahead of her.  “More than a century ago.”

Rose reached out and lay her hand on Maleficent’s arm.  Maleficent jumped away from her and threw Rose to the ground with something beyond physical force, something that seared white-hot across her skin as she fell, but nothing she could see.

Rose touched her hand, searching for evidence of the burn she'd felt.  Maleficent stood across the room with hands at the ready, wide-eyed and panting, as though expecting a fight.

“I’m sorry,” Rose choked out.  “I…I’m so sorry.”

Maleficent blinked a few times, staring at Rose as if she could not really see her.  After a moment, her shoulders slumped and she leaned heavily against the table she'd repaired.  She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.  “It would be in your best interest,” she said, her voice soft, her words clipped, “not to startle me.” 

She opened her eyes and Rose was stricken by how very black they were.  Maleficent’s expression softened somewhat and she took a step forward and offered her hand to Rose.  “I am sorry.  I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

Rose looked at Maleficent's hand and thought of the way Philip had grabbed her earlier, thought about how she had never considered how an outstretched hand could hurt her.  A moment passed in tense silence.  Rose hardly even registered that she was crying again.

Maleficent dropped her hand and knelt down in front of Rose.  Her expression was unreadable now, but there was no longer any trace of malice in it.  Rose felt the overwhelming urge to launch herself upon Maleficent and cry into her shoulder, but given what had just happened when Rose merely touched Maleficent’s arm with her fingertips, she doubted that would end well.  And so she sat despondent on the floor, weeping openly, with nothing and no one to comfort her.

A strange moment passed while Maleficent knelt before her and watched her, impassively, and with that inhuman stillness.  Then, suddenly, Maleficent stood and disappeared up the stairs, and this only made Rose sob harder.  She supposed Maleficent had no obligation to stay with her while she cried, supposed she ought to be glad that no one was staring at her anymore. 

Maleficent was terrifying, volatile, wild.  She'd snapped from participating in a surprisingly civil conversation to lashing out with what must have been dark magic, apropos of nothing.  But Maleficent was now the only person Rose had left.  Maleficent was the only person in Rose's life who did not seem intent upon locking her away for the rest of her life.  Maleficent was the only person in Rose's life who would call her by her name...but she was also the reason Rose's birth name had been stolen from her, the reason her false name had been a necessity to begin with.

A few minutes ago, Rose had not thought it possible to feel any more alone than she already did.  Somehow she had managed it.


	3. The Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a lot of work on this chapter, and I'm really happy with the changes! The basic structure is the same, just tightened conversations, added better setups for later themes, that kind of thing.

Briar Rose lay back on the hard stone floor, cried out at long last.  She was already half asleep when she felt long, slender fingers running through her tangled hair and cradling her head.  She opened her eyes, too tired to fully register her own surprise, to see Maleficent leaning over her, harsh features impassive as ever.

Perhaps she ought to have been frightened, but the idea of such a feeling seemed distant, impossible to grasp.  All she could think of was how good it felt to be touched so gently, how relieved she was not to be quite so alone as she'd thought.

Maleficent scooped Rose up in her arms as though it were nothing, and Rose allowed it, unthinking.  She wrapped her arms sleepily about Maleficent's neck, idly examined a strand of Maleficent's hair between her fingers.  It was thick, strong, healthy aside from the end, which felt as charred as it looked.  Still, there was something curiously pleasant about touching it--perhaps simply that she was being permitted to touch Maleficent at all.

Maleficent carried her upstairs and into a bedroom.  Rose couldn't make out much about the room in the dim light of morning, but her exhausted mind decided it was largely unimportant.  What mattered to her was that the bed in which Maleficent lay her was exquisitely soft, and the sheets and pillows smelled fresh and clean.  Rose let out a sigh of surpassing relief.

Maleficent tucked her in briskly, but before she left, she held a moment.  She reached out and touched Rose's forehead with the tips of her fingers, just for an instant, a strange, meaningless gesture, and then it was over, and she was gone as though she had never been there to begin with.  Rose decided just before she succumbed to sleep that she must already be dreaming.

When she awoke, the strange room was bathed in golden sunlight.  Her first sensation was that of icy panic, for she could not remember where she was, nor how she had come to be here.  She sat upright, trembling all over, struggling to make sense of the tangle of dreams and memories swirling about in her mind, trying and failing to make any sense of the events of the night before.

Could she really have run away?  Could she have snapped at her husband and her aunties, turned up her nose at her old life and her new one alike, and thrown herself at the mercy of some ancient horror for the barest chance at something more?

It sounded like a nightmare.  It felt like a nightmare.  Yet, here she sat, in an unfamiliar room, with puffy eyes and sore muscles and a nightdress that felt a bit worse for wear.

Briar Rose had run away.

She curled her knees up against her chest and squeezed her eyes closed against the reality of her surroundings.  Briar Rose had run away.  She had run away from home, from her family, from being a princess, from being the Princess Aurora, and for what?  To whom?

She had run to the wicked fairy who wanted her dead.

The thought turned her stomach.  How stupid could she be?  How restless, how foolhardy, how desperate for adventure, that she would fling herself headfirst into mortal danger for a chance at...at anything?  Anything beyond the dismal destiny of the Lost Princess.

She ought to be weeping for all she had lost, and yet she supposed after last night, she must be fresh out of tears at long last.   Sick to her stomach, certainly, and terrified for what would befall her, but no longer sorrowful.  The time for sorrow had passed.  At least for now.

Rose opened her eyes and took in her surroundings at last.

The walls of the little bedroom were faded blue and otherwise bare. The room was sparsely furnished—there were a chest of drawers and a small desk across from the bed where Rose lay. Next to the bed stood a small table with a few books on it.  Rose scooted to the edge of the bed and reached for them.

The one on the top was a large, thick book with a faded black cover titled The Art of Defensive Magic. It had a golden silk bookmark about halfway through. Beneath that was a blue book titled The Magic of the Elements, Volume II. The third was a light brown book with no title on the cover. Rose flipped it open and found that it was called The Biography of Mistress Acacia of the Kingdom by the Sea, and that it was written by Mistress Kinsale of the Kingdom of Hill and Valley.

Rose could not read especially well, and so she decided not to spend too much time trying to flip through any of these books. She doubted she would understand them, anyway. By the sound of it, they were all about magic. She stood on sore legs and walked over to the desk, where there were more books, some papers, and quills made from a variety of colourful feathers.

The chest of drawers was filled with very lovely clothes and underthings, which were ostensibly made for someone much smaller than Rose. They looked as though they might be a child's clothes, and yet they were so beautifully made, Rose could not even fathom such a thing. She had always had to make her own clothing from whatever fabric her fairy guardians offered to her, and there had been no sense in spending a lot of time on something she would grow out of.

On top of the chest of drawers, there was a strange little necklace, a jagged chain that held a large pendant that seemed to catch the sunlight in strange patterns.  Rose picked it up and abruptly dropped it again, for as soon as she had touched the pendant, she was certain she felt a strange sensation wash over her, something palpable but inexplicable.  The pendant must be magical, too.

Rose sat upon the edge of the bed and cradled her head in her hands.  Magic everywhere.  Magic books, magic necklaces, magic fairies, magic aunties who didn't even know how to water their plants.  How had she gotten herself here, surrounded by magic all over again when she'd just managed to escape it?

She'd been so upset when she found out that, on top of the great lie which had been her childhood, her aunts intended to keep yet another secret from her. In fact, she'd been more than upset. Rose had never been angry in her life. She wouldn't know what it felt like if she were. Still, she'd wanted to do something about it, about being kept in the dark.  She'd sought out the truth, if nothing else.

In search of the truth, Rose had found Maleficent, and there was no telling where she lay on the scale of accuracy. If Rose's fairy guardians were to be believed, Maleficent told nothing but wicked lies.

Aunt Flora had told her that Maleficent was pure evil. Maleficent wanted her dead—"You, Rose! Of all the terrible people in this world! You were such a sweet child, too, Rose. You never made a fuss, you were always so happy, and such a pretty babe. And Maleficent came storming into your christening uninvited and cursed you to die!" Flora had explained that the Queen—or rather, Rose's mother—had even considered inviting Maleficent to the christening, kind-hearted as she was, and the king—that is to say, Rose's father—as well as the good fairies, of course, had been vehemently against it.

"But," Rose had asked, "didn't you say she was so angry because she wasn't invited? Perhaps if you had invited her--"

"Now, Rose," Flora had chided, "I know you know nothing of the evils of this world, and I am so glad of it. But Maleficent would have caused trouble no matter what. That is her nature. We were only trying to protect you."

Fauna had been far gentler, but equally set in her opinion. "Maleficent is a very unhappy woman, Aurora," she had said, patting Rose's hands, barely contained melancholy in her tone as she dutifully used Rose's given name.  "And I don't think it's entirely her fault. It's in her nature, you know. She just simply doesn't understand love or kindness or affection…or any of the things that fill a person's life with joy. All wicked fairies are like that."

This statement had made Rose very curious. "What are other wicked fairies like?" she asked. "Do they look the same? Act the same way?"

Fauna had become very nervous at Rose's query and had answered her carefully. "Well, I haven't interacted with very many," she said slowly. "But the others I've met haven't been nearly as…powerful…as she is, to say the least."

Fauna glanced over her shoulder then, as though she expected someone to be listening. "That is the troubling thing about Maleficent," she continued, quietly.  "She's very smart. I don't think any of the other wicked fairies I've met could have cursed someone to…to die, even if they wanted to. It's only…" she bit her lip.  "It's such a shame that she uses her extraordinary intelligence that way. To make bad things happen."

She shook her head, forced a smile, and squeezed Rose's hands, "But as I said, I don't think she could do any differently if she tried. It's the way she was born."

Merryweather had been by far the most aggressive, even more so than Philip. "Oooooh, just thinking about it makes me so mad, I could just…!" She shook her fist at nothing. "Don't you worry your head about that evil thing one minute more, Rose," she said firmly, for she defiantly refused to call her little Rose by any other name. "I'm sorry you had to know about her at all."

A few days and a lifetime ago, Rose would have smiled fondly and agreed to put the matter behind her. But Merryweather had lied to her just as freely as her other two aunts. Merryweather, who so firmly believed in telling the plain truth, had never bothered to mention her own long list of untruths, and did not even have the decency to act ashamed now that the news was out.

As it stood, Rose had frowned ever so slightly. "But Aunt Merryweather, I only want to understand why. There must have been a reason she did it."

Merryweather shook her head. "Sweet girl," she said, patting Rose's hands, "she did it because that is what wicked fairies do. They cause trouble. Maleficent was upset that the King and Queen didn't acknowledge her power by inviting her to your christening, so she decided to show them exactly what that power could do."

"But why would she make it sixteen years?" Rose pressed.  "That seems very strange to me. It's a random number.  Why wouldn't she just kill me immediately?"

Merryweather suddenly became very interested in her fingernails. "Rose," she said softly, her voice weak, "don't say such things. How should I know why she cursed you the way she did? She didn't kill you right then because she thought it would be more painful to give you a short time to live before she took you away. I don't know. Just…just don't worry about it anymore, okay? It's over now."

But oh, Aunt Merryweather, thought Rose sadly, how can it ever be over?

Everyone wanted so desperately for the matter to be over. They wanted Rose back and happy and thriving and cured of the after-effects of the Sleeping Curse. They wanted Philip and Rose married and the Northern and Eastern Kingdoms united. They wanted Maleficent dead and out of the way forever.

No one seemed to see that this ordeal that they wanted over and done with was the entirety of Rose's existence. When it was finally over, what would Rose be left with? Nothing. Rose wouldn't exist anymore. She would be Aurora.

This was the reason Rose had run away. This was the reason she had chosen the possibility of immediate danger over another day in what seemed to her little more than a gilded cage. She had to hold onto herself. No one else was going to do it for her.

Anyway, she had survived the night, brief though it may have been. Maleficent had thus far honoured her twisted promise of a life for a life. Rose wondered idly where Maleficent might be. Was she sleeping? Had she left for some far-off land, abandoning Rose to die alone in this strange little fortress?

The notion left Rose feeling strangely calm.  Whatever had led her here, she had gotten herself into this mess.  She would either die or have quite an adventure, and there was no sense in delaying the inevitable.  She stood with renewed purpose and set out to find the wicked fairy whose company she had decided to keep.

The corridors of this strange little fortress were as different from the elegant halls of King Stefan's castle as anything Briar Rose could imagine.  The floor was raw, uncovered by any sort of carpeting, and it was uneven, made up of jagged stones that had long since fallen into disrepair.  Rose rolled her ankles at least twice stepping into spots where a large stone seemed to be missing.  She wondered whether the floor had been different a century ago, when Maleficent had last been here and her sisters had been...  She pushed the thought rather forcefully aside.

The walls were bare aside from an unsettling multitude of spider webs, most of which were home to some very large and frightening spiders.  Where most of the doors in Stefan's castle were kept closed, most of the doors in this castle either hung open or were not there at all, and almost every doorway was the territory of a fuzzy-legged arachnid.  None of the rooms looked as though they might feasibly be inhabited by anything possessing less than eight legs. Rose considered that she might be underestimating Maleficent's tolerance for dust and creepy bugs, but given the amount of work she had ostensibly put into making Rose's makeshift bedroom livable, Rose imagined she would do the same for herself.

The staircase which Maleficent had so gracefully ascended with Rose in tow—assuming that was not a dream—was anything but sound in construction. Rose could see through some of the steps all the way to the grand ballroom below her, and with every step she took, a little more stone crumbled beneath her feet. It was most unnerving, and she was much happier when she landed upon the solid, albeit still uneven, floor of the ground level.

The grand ballroom now actually looked like one—Maleficent must have done some more work on it after putting Rose to bed. The furniture was immaculate, the rugs were brightly-coloured and looked very clean, and the entire room had the same regality about it as its mistress, where the rest of the castle felt as gloomy and deserted as it looked.

After a thorough inspection of the dining room and the kitchens, which were still in relative disrepair, Rose began to contemplate the notion of going outside to look for Maleficent. She remembered all too well Maleficent's insinuations that the territory was not particularly safe, and Rose somehow doubted that she was referring to dragons. Then again, what choice did Rose have? She could look outside or she could sit and wait and drive herself mad with questions she could not answer. If Maleficent was in the castle, she had hidden herself well. It was bright outside now, and Rose would just take a little look around. She would go back inside if there was no wicked fairy to be found.

Rose pushed open one of the two giant front doors, and it afforded her an enormous creak of protest. She squinted in the morning light as it flooded into the grand ballroom and stepped tentatively out onto the smooth, hard rock outside the door. Though the front of the castle was still in the shade, the stone was warm on her bare feet. She took a few more steps and closed the front door behind her.

This land—what had Maleficent called it? The Dragon Country?—was exquisitely beautiful. The sky was the bluest Rose had ever seen, the clouds were the fluffiest and whitest, and the stone beneath her feet was so smooth it almost shone.  To her right lay mountains, iridescent purple in the light of the sun.  To her left lay lower hills and valleys, covered in deep green grass and dotted with colourful wildflowers.

There was something extremely disconcerting about the whole scene, and it suddenly occurred to Rose just what was wrong, and what had been wrong since her arrival: it was dead silent.

There was no wind, and so there was no rustling of leaves or grass. There were no bird calls and no footsteps of little woodland creatures. There were no distant sounds of people's voices, though of course who knew how far away their nearest neighbours might reside? The only sound Rose could hear was that of her own breathing, suddenly deafening in the utter stillness.

When Rose heard another sound, her heart stuttered and she jumped. Swift footsteps seemed to fall all around her, echoing off the mountains, filling her ears and dictating her heartbeat. Rose did not know what to do—she thought perhaps she should go back inside, but she was too frightened to move.

A woman appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and Rose tried to scream, but it felt as though her voice were too hoarse to make any sound. She backed away slowly, but the woman kept approaching with heavy, sure steps. She was old. Her curly, chestnut brown hair was heavily streaked with grey, her face was lined, and there was a slight hunch to her back. The woman was taller than Rose, and a bit more full-figured. Her face was soft and kind, as were her brown eyes.

"Out of curiosity," said the woman, perhaps not kindly, but her voice was so warm that anything she said would have sounded kind. Rose did not dare relax. "...what would you do if I were to attack you, right now?"

Rose blinked in confusion. "What?"

The woman's brow furrowed thoughtfully.  "Would you accept your fate?  Die, just like that?  Or would you try to run? Or fight?"

"I—I don't—"

While Rose stammered out non-answers, something very strange began to happen.  The strange woman seemed to grow taller and more slender right before her eyes.  She lost the hunch in her back, the fullness of her figure, the kindness in her eyes.  Her hair fluttered in a breeze that came from nowhere, and suddenly a rush of black swept through the greying curls.  Light forest green rained down onto the woman's skin, like a waterfall from an invisible source, and the stranger who was in many ways the exact opposite of Maleficent became very much Maleficent.

Just as she'd imagined she might, Rose fell to her knees, utterly overwhelmed by the sight of her.

Gone was the gaunt, frail creature from King Stefan's dungeons.  Gone were the tattered remains of battleworn clothing.  Maleficent wore a gown of deep purple, with a flowing skirt and sleeves that billowed around her even as there was no wind to cause such a thing.  Her hair shone in the sunlight, longer and sleeker than Rose remembered, and no longer charred at the ends.  With a wave of her hands, she swept it away from her face into a simple, elegant bun that emphasized her dramatic widow's peak.  Her flawless green skin, too, seemed to glow faintly in the gentle light of day, and as far as Rose could tell, there were no more scars to be found on her face or hands.

"I suppose I ought to be glad you didn't invite me in," Maleficent said airily.

"You frightened me," Rose responded, belatedly.

Maleficent raised one eyebrow. "You act as though that were uncommon."

Rose averted her eyes. "That's quite a talent."

"Why, thank you, Highness."  Maleficent bowed her head and made a small flourish with her hand. "It ought to be. I've spent all my life refining it. I hope you will take this the way I intend it: I really wouldn't advise you to wander around outside without my company."

Rose looked down and began to fidget. "I was afraid you might have abandoned me," she said without thinking, but the words sounded so pathetic when spoken aloud that she immediately set about trying and failing to save herself. "I mean, that is…it's not as though I--  I don't know where we are. And I don't exactly have a lot of...survival skills."

Feeble excuses at best. Rose felt her cheeks flush hot and bowed her head.

She heard Maleficent's footsteps approaching, for there was nothing else to hear. "As I mentioned to you yesterday morning when we arrived, this is the Dragon Country."

"Yes, but how far away from the Kingdom of the East is this? Why wouldn't you--" Rose looked up, at last distracted from her shame. "Yesterday morning? I slept that long?"

"Well," Rose thought there might be a hint of mirth in Maleficent's tone, but her expression was impassive as ever.  "You did have a rather eventful evening. We are quite far away from your kingdom. It would take a great deal of effort to reach this place from that without magic, and I doubt anyone would think to do so."

"Why did you think to come here?" Rose wondered.

"I was born here," Maleficent replied with a thoughtful tilt of her head. "And it is rather lovely, isn't it? A bit warm for my taste."

"It is lovely," Rose agreed, and wondered whether she ought to say what discomfited her so. "And…very quiet."

Maleficent nodded, "You've noticed."

"It would be hard not to," Rose said quietly.

"As its name implies, this land was once rife with dragons," said Maleficent.  There was a different colour to her voice now, something softer, almost...wistful.  "But it seems that if any yet remain, they are making themselves quite scarce."

Rose fidgeted with the fabric of her nightdress while she made up her mind to speak.  "I've...only ever seen dragons in story books.  Do you..." she hazarded a glance up at Maleficent.  "Do you mean to say you lived among them as a child?"

A charming half-smile graced Maleficent's lovely features, and Rose found herself captivated by the sight.

"I did, yes," said Maleficent.  She approached and offered Rose her hand.  Rendered foolhardy by the force of her curiosity, Rose took the proffered hand without hesitation.

"Dragons are fascinating creatures," Maleficent continued.  "Fearsome, most certainly.  And formidable.  Some will tell you they are malicious creatures.  Enormous, destructive pests who cannot help but to wreak havoc wherever they roam."

"You disagree?" Rose guessed.

"Just because a creature is capable of great destruction does not mean she actively seeks to inflict it," said Maleficent, with an edge to her expressive voice that felt like a dare.  "Some of us are born dangerous."

The description seemed more apt than Maleficent had perhaps intended, but then again, Maleficent had actively sought to kill Rose until fairly recently.  With that thought, something caught in Rose's mind.  "You're a dragon," she blurted out without preamble, and then shook her head, embarrassed.  "I mean.  You can turn into one.  So I've heard," she finished lamely.

The charming almost-smile made a glorious return.  "You've heard correctly," she said.

She offered her arm to Rose.  Rose took it, not without a brief hesitation, and Maleficent led them in the direction of the deep green hills.  "And I'll have you know that if I had guessed your little auntie was dabbling in magical artefacts far beyond her ken, I would not have been defeated."

Rose's throat felt suddenly very dry.  She spoke these words so pleasantly, as though such a circumstance wouldn't have changed anything, as though it wouldn't have changed everything.  "Then Philip would be dead," Rose murmured tremulously.  "I'd still be cursed."

"And I wouldn't have a sword wound all the way through my chest," Maleficent replied crisply.

"Why do you want to kill me?" Rose asked the grass at her feet.

A long silence followed. "I don't," Maleficent replied simply.

Rose looked up, eyes wide, but Maleficent's expression was as unreadable as ever. "What?"

"If I wanted to kill you," said Maleficent, tilting her head and quirking one eyebrow, "you'd be dead."

Rose suddenly found it very difficult to breathe. She stared at Maleficent, mouth agape, unable to think of any response at all. Maleficent's dark eyes flickered down and back up. Rose shivered under her gaze.

"Let's get you a proper dress," said Maleficent, turning back towards the fortress.

Rose trailed after her, thoughts in a whirl. It seemed unlikely that Maleficent had misunderstood her question, which meant that she had deliberately sidestepped it, or that she had blatantly lied. Talking or even thinking about the issue of her own near-demise made Rose queasy, and it had taken all of her courage to ask Maleficent once...she was not up to pressing the issue just now. Anyway, she rather doubted Maleficent was going to fetch her a proper dress simply to kill her in it, so she was probably safe for the moment.

As they made their way back to the strange castle, Rose scrambled for another topic of conversation to fill the maddening silence.  Something else Maleficent had said stuck out in her mind.  "Magic beyond her ken?"

Maleficent afforded her a passing sideways glance.  "An enchanted sword," she replied.  "And shield," she amended, "but the sword was of more immediate concern to me."

"What was it made to do?"

Maleficent frowned subtly.  "Fly swift and sure," she replied, not a little flatly.

Rose shook her head, not understanding.  "What?" she pressed.  "Have perfect aim?"

"Essentially."  Maleficent waved a dismissive hand.  "Your precious good fairies might tell you otherwise."

Rose didn't know what to make of that, and so she asked a question that came more readily.  "Did Aunt Flora enchant it herself?"

Maleficent scoffed.  "I rather doubt it.  She stole magic from her sisters to cast the incantation alone."

Rose shook her head again.  One could steal magic?  "If she didn't make it herself, where could she have gotten such a thing?"

Maleficent thought a moment while they climbed the stairs.  "I confess I am a bit out of touch.  There are light fae to the north who once favoured them.  Enchanted swords," she clarified.  "A fairy called Mistress Sara was fascinated by enchanted swords for a short while.  One of many devastating whims."

They passed the room where Rose had slept the previous day away and stopped in front of a doorframe with no door, and only an enormous, fuzzy-legged, red-eyed spider as its safeguard.

"Pardon us," said Maleficent, to the spider, and she followed her request with a courteous nod of her head. 

The spider appeared to bow and then pulled itself out of the doorway and completely out of sight. Maleficent ducked her head to avoid the spider's web and Rose stood completely still, dumb-struck by what she had just witnessed.

Maleficent watched her from the other side of the web and, after a moment, said, "Come along," as though Rose were a child. Embarrassed, she immediately ducked as far down as she could and hurried under the spider's web. Once she was inside, the spider lowered itself back into the web and continued whatever spidery activity which had previously occupied its attention.

"It isn't going to hurt you," Maleficent said, more than a little amused, and she turned Rose away from the doorframe by the shoulders.

This room was very different from the one in which she had slept. The colour scheme was all orange and red, and hardly faded at all.  It was not neatly kept like the other room--indeed, if one failed to note the thin layer of dust that had settled over the room in its entirety, one might think the room's occupant had just raced out the door, fresh from tearing her belongings asunder in search of whatever she needed.

Maleficent surveyed the contents of this room's chest of drawers and produced a dress of deep crimson.  "Not your usual style, I daresay, but this is surely the least eccentric thing my eldest sister ever owned. You're welcome to try the room where you slept or my old room, but I imagine we were too young when we left to have anything that would fit you."

 _The least eccentric thing my eldest sister ever owned._   Rose took the dress with hands that trembled.  "Thank you," she managed, just barely.  It had not occurred to her until this moment, not even distantly, that the room where she slept and this new, brightly-coloured room, might have once belonged to Maleficent's sisters, who had died--who had _been killed_ more than a hundred years ago.

Silence reigned between them a moment more before Maleficent said, "I'll be off now. There's much I'd like to look into before the day is out. I'll return before sunset."  She moved Rose gently out of her way, excused herself to the spider once more, and ducked out of the room.

"There are all manner of books lying about if you're in need of something to do," Maleficent continued.  "I...would caution you against touching anything that looks..." she gestured vaguely, "...too intriguing."

Rose's mind offered up the memory of the necklace that felt like more than a necklace, and she nodded her understanding.

Maleficent turned to leave, then hesitated once more.  "I know you must be very tired of people telling you what to do, and I am not telling you not to go outside, just…" she glanced down and up again, the only subtle sign of her discomfort, "…please do be careful."

And then she was gone, and Briar Rose was left alone with a dead woman's dress and a well-mannered spider.

It felt delightful to change out of her dirty nightclothes. The red dress fit her loosely and the neckline was far lower than Rose was comfortable wearing. She wondered if Maleficent's sister had been tall, or full-figured.  She wondered if Maleficent's sisters had shared her raven-black hair or her dark, piercing eyes.

She fidgeted with the dress in a vain attempt to cover more of her chest as she wandered the room in search of shoes.  She didn't normally mind going barefoot, but the floors of this castle were so dirty and uneven, she feared she might get a bit of stone or something worse stuck in her foot. She found a pair of leather shoes which were only a little too big for her under a pile of clothes on the bed.

"Excuse me again," she said to the spider, who obliged by moving out of her way. She ducked, still feeling very queasy, and exited the room without incident. "Thank you," she said to the spider, who made that bowing movement once more.

Outside of Maleficent's eldest sister's room, Rose realized that she had nowhere to be and no one to find. Maleficent had not forbidden her to leave, or told her not to go too far, or not to speak to strangers. She had only mentioned that it might not be safe outside and asked that Rose be careful.

How delightfully odd.

For Rose's first unfettered choice in what seemed a lifetime, she decided to investigate the other rooms on this floor, now that she knew how to contend with the spiders who occupied their thresholds. She passed one room that was ostensibly empty but for some unidentifiably broken furniture, then the room where she had slept, and a room that appeared to have once been a small library, but whose bookshelves had mostly fallen apart, leaving piles of books and dust all over the floor.  At the end of the hallway was a room which still had most of its door. She knocked, felt very silly for doing so, and then opened it.

The walls of this room were a grayish burgundy, and the furniture was generally much bigger and more lavish than that of the other two rooms. This room was also casually messy, as though its occupant had been going somewhere in a hurry.

There were no books anywhere to be found.  There was, however, a very long scroll of paper draped across a little desk, virtually untouched by the passage of time.  The ends of the scroll rolled off of the desk and onto the floor in either direction, and the paper was covered almost to either end with illegible handwriting and incomprehensible sketches.    Rose leaned in to try to catch a word, an image, anything she recognized, but it was no use.  She was not a good reader to begin with, and the handwriting was so florid she couldn't even pick out any letters she recognized.  The words never seemed to end or form any recognizable shapes, and they were further marred by the occasional angry ink blot.  Rose wondered whether the whole thing was in a different language, or even something only wicked fairies could read.

There were a woman's clothes hanging in a closet and strewn about the floor, not dissimilar from the dress Briar Rose had been offered.  Lavish, exquisitely made, and revealing around the chest, all in the colours of fire.

Rose afforded the strange parchment one last lingering glance before she gave up on trying to glean anything more from this confusing room.

The next room she came to which had anything of substance in it was another bedroom, guarded by a very spindly, but comparatively small brown spider. Rose's breath hitched as she peeked past the web into the room, for she knew almost instinctively to whom it belonged.

"Pardon me," she said to the spider, who was hanging directly in front of her face. The spider froze for a moment--Rose had never imagined she would witness a spider experiencing surprise--but then pulled itself up out of Rose's path. She ducked her head slightly and stepped into the room.

Every detail of this room screamed Maleficent. The walls were a faded sea green, as were the bedclothes. There was a table by the bed and a desk on the right, and both were piled high with books of every shape and size. There were no clothes on the floor in this room—indeed, there was no dust and no sign of life aside from the spider in the doorframe. The clothes hanging in the closet were all just as exquisitely made as all of the clothes Rose had seen so far. Rose held one of them out. Though they were clearly made for a figureless child, they were still very long. She tried to imagine a young Maleficent, a gangly, awkward youth, and could not fathom such a thing.

Rose picked up a few books and examined them idly.  Volume I of The Magic of the Elements was here, but otherwise Rose struggled to understand even the titles.  She gave up on the books and ran her hands idly over Maleficent's bedsheets.  She wondered if Maleficent had ever allowed herself to sleep late, let alone into the next day, and couldn't imagine it.

Maleficent was certainly not what Rose had expected.  She was mostly quiet, refined, and exceedingly polite.  But Rose had already witnessed the way she could snap at an unforeseeable provocation.  Rose thought of herself the fateful night they'd fled the castle, the way her Aunt Flora reaching out to her had caused her to flinch when Philip had just hurt her with his touch, and wondered what Maleficent's life must have been like, that such a reaction was her standard.

What had happened here a hundred years ago?  What had become of Maleficent's sisters, or of her mother and father, for that matter?

Could it be that Rose and Maleficent had something in common?  Had they both lost everything they'd ever known before they'd even truly known it?

Rose shook her head.  Surely she was reaching.  She gave into the creeping lightheadedness that followed her since she'd woken from the Sleeping Curse and sat on the edge of the bed with a heavy sigh.  It shouldn't be so easy for her to forget the precariousness of her situation.  Rose had no problem seeing Maleficent as someone who could cast a fearsome curse.  Still, even in their few, brief encounters, Rose was beginning to see another side of Maleficent.  Far more than the embodiment of pure evil, a creature who could not help but to wreak destruction, Maleficent seemed to Rose an extremely guarded person who might, perhaps, be ever so slightly lonely.

Rose very much doubted Maleficent would approve of her assessment, and she doubted that she was the person for the job of reaching out to Maleficent, but she had little else to accomplish here.  What was the alternative?  To return to whatever remained of the life of the Princess Aurora?  Not two days removed from the Eastern Kingdom, Briar Rose could not even fathom the idea of returning, not when she had just begun to experience what it was not to have to pretend to be someone else.

Then again, would Maleficent take her back to King Stefan's castle, if she asked? Had she truly freed herself by running away with the enemy, or had she merely handed over her chains to a new, and far less predictable, keeper?

Rose took up one of Maleficent's pillows and cradled it against herself, a feeble attempt at comfort.  She longed for someone who might offer her real solace, but that was impossible no matter where she went.  Here, she might be left with only Maleficent for company, but she couldn't help but to think Maleficent far preferable to the alternative she'd escaped.

She closed her eyes and thought of her aunties, of the life she'd had for sixteen years.  Sure, they hadn't understood how to cook or clean or tend flowers, but the three good fairies who had called themselves her family had loved Briar Rose dearly.  It was only when she'd begun to grow up that they hadn't known how to love her anymore.  She hadn't understood it at the time, but now she was beginning to.  Briar Rose longed for new places to explore, new people to meet.  She longed to meet someone who might understand a fraction of how she felt, or, failing that, someone who would simply listen, and try.

This, she supposed, was how Maleficent had so easily won her over.  Her aunties hadn't known what to say to her then, because they had known the path of her destiny all along.

Maleficent must have seen through Briar Rose immediately.  She must have taken one glance at Briar Rose and seen her very soul.  She must have thought, _all this foolish girl needs is a listening ear, even for a few moments, and she will do whatever I ask_.

But if Maleficent were truly as evil as the good fairies had told her, wouldn't she have just manipulated Rose into freeing her, and then disposed of Rose as she saw fit?

As it stood, Maleficent had honoured her promise: a life for a life.  Perhaps Maleficent had lied. Perhaps she still wanted Rose dead. It was not unlikely. However, if what she said while still in chains was true, Maleficent did not feel that it was right to kill Rose when Rose had spared her life.

That did not seem like pure evil to Rose. That seemed...well, it seemed rather noble.

"Briar Rose."

Rose did not know when she had fallen asleep. She sat up abruptly, embarrassed that she had been caught lying in Maleficent's bed, and she was rewarded with a wave of terrible dizziness for her hastiness. When her vision cleared, she saw Maleficent standing just inside the doorway, hands folded in front of her body, expression aloof as ever.

Rose was expecting mockery, even an admonishment.  "I found something you might like to see," said Maleficent, instead. "Do you feel well enough for a walk?"

Rose nodded, feeling rather stupid, and made to stand cautiously.  She smoothed the covers and replaced the pillow she had clutched to her chest while she slept.  Maleficent led the way out of the room, ducking under the spider, who was also enjoying a midday nap, and back down the crumbling stairs.

"Did you find anything of interest while I was away?" Maleficent asked her.

Rose combed her fingers through her hair and rubbed the sleep from her eyes while they walked.  "A lot of books I couldn't read.  A long scroll I really couldn't read."

"A scroll," Maleficent echoed thoughtfully.  She paused a moment at the bottom of the stairs, long-fingered hand still clutching the bannister, and nodded to herself.  "Foolish of me," she said after a moment.  "Like an overgrown child, I hadn't thought to disturb my mother's room."

"I'm sorry," Rose breathed, certain the flash of sudden rage or defensiveness would come.

None did.  Instead Maleficent regarded her with something like surprise.  "No need," she said.  "As I said, it was a child's reluctance.  Mistress Adara is long dead, and her scrolls might prove..." she frowned.  "Enlightening, if not useful."

Your mother, too?  Rose nearly blurted out without thinking, all wavering tones and pity she knew Maleficent wouldn't want to hear.  Maleficent continued walking, and Rose scrambled to redirect her thoughts.  "Was she a shapeshifter, too?"

"No," said Maleficent, almost like a breath of laughter.  "Her own gifts kept her busy enough."

"Her own gifts?" Rose pressed.

"My mother possessed some form of clairvoyance," said Maleficent.

"What does that mean?  Clairvoyance?"

"She could perceive what might come to pass in the future," Maleficent clarified.  Her voice lacked its usual conviction.  "Perhaps _gift_ is too cruel a designation," she amended.  "It seemed to me very much a curse.  It drove her quite mad, as I'm certain her scrolls will attest."

Rose didn't know how to respond, or whether she ought to keep pressing for more information.  Outside, the sun hung low in the sky, and it rendered the Dragon Country somehow even more beautiful.   Each mountain was lined with shimmering gold, each hill with its deep green grass and its colourful wildflowers was only intensified by the rich tones of sunset, accented by shadow.

Instead of turning towards the hills, though, Maleficent led them towards the mountains.

"It has been a trying day," said Maleficent as they walked.  "The people of this land have known such a long Golden Age of Prosperity that no one I have encountered seems to remember how it came to be."

"Golden Age of Prosperity?" Rose pressed.

"A term for the time that follows a resident wicked fairy's demise," said Maleficent.  "I imagine your kingdom has not yet dared to declare such a circumstance."

Rose was not certain what to say about that. She concentrated on her feet, instead.

"Curious, too--they all seem so young.  I did not expect to glean any useful information from anyone younger than the middle-aged woman whose visage I adopted, but I found no one older."

"That does sound strange," Rose agreed.  She felt that most of the people in her own land were old, or at least older than she.  There were small children, and there were elders--why, even Philip was several years her senior, but he was born in the Kingdom of the North, not the East.  "But supposing there were...hard times, before this Golden Age came to be, perhaps it was difficult to grow old?"

"Even in the worst of times, there are always survivors," Maleficent replied.  "It is possible that there are worse fates than death, but to die is never to know what might have been. One should never underestimate any creature's will to survive."

She spoke the words so casually for one who had so recently faced certain execution, and the thought caused Rose's heart physical pain, so sudden and surprising that she did not even bother to contradict her certainty that Maleficent would have been put to death.

The path before them grew steeper, and it seemed to wind aimlessly, and Maleficent offered Rose her arm as they proceeded.

"What was it like here," Rose dared, "...a century ago?"  She spoke softly, yet without even the sound of a gentle breeze, her words seemed to echo through the mountains, to fill the vast sky above them with the audacity of such a question.  A century ago?  Briar Rose could not even conceive of such a thing.  Who was she to try?

"What was it like?" Maleficent echoed quietly.  "Unpredictable," she said after a moment. "Wild.  Loud.  If we wished to leave our fortress, it was...we must prepare as though for battle.  People--fairies and humans--were always fighting here.  The dark fae enchanted humans to fight one another, the light fae enchanted humans to fight the dark fae...my mother enchanted dragons to protect us.  Or...to protect her, I suppose."

"Were you always able to shapeshift?" Rose wondered.

"Not always," said Maleficent.  "Not then."

"How did you learn?"

Maleficent paused a moment, thoughtful.  Truthfully, Rose was glad of the rest.  The walk was more grueling than she was accustomed to, and her laboured breathing felt far too loud in the silent mountains.

"It is...difficult to explain in words," said Maleficent slowly.  "When I looked into their eyes, I...saw something.  I saw a piece of myself in them, and then I became one of them."

"Is that..." Rose began, but stopped herself, sure she ought to stop prying before she pushed too far.  But Maleficent stood, eerily still, waiting for her to continue, or perhaps only to catch her breath, and so Rose continued against her better judgement.  "Is that how you always transform?" she wondered.  "Looking into someone's soul?"

Maleficent was silent a moment longer.  Rose was too nervous to meet her eyes.

"That was the way the ability showed itself to me," she said at last.  "It's a high magical expenditure, not a trick to be bandied about without cause, but after many years of practice, I can transform at will into nearly anything I've seen."  She gestured to the winding path ahead.  "Shall we?"

Rose nodded, more to her feet than to her companion, as she considered what she had learned.  "Your mother was a clairvoyant," she began, hesitantly, "and you are a shapeshifter.  What of the rest of your family?  Was your father a shapeshifter?"

Maleficent's first response was a small huff of derision.  "I wouldn't know.  It's doubtful.  Male fairies rarely possess such abilities."                                                               

"You never met him?" Rose pressed.

"I was the youngest of my sisters," said Maleficent.  "My father left before I was born."

"I'm sorry."

Maleficent afforded her a sideways glance, and her tone was that of confusion.  "It's the usual way, not unexpected.  Truthfully I had forgotten that humans attach significance to such matters."

"You..." Rose nearly tripped over something along the path, and it distracted her enough to look up in surprise.  "You don't care?"

Maleficent raised her eyebrows.  "Why would I?"

Rose gesticulated vaguely, thought of King Stefan with his kind eyes and distant smile, who hadn't spoken so much as two words to her since her return.  "He's your father?"

"He was as nothing to me," Maleficent replied with a little shrug.  "My eldest sister, Seraphina, remembered him a little.  Black hair and a sharp voice."  She scoffed.  "What does it change?"

Rose considered this a moment.  "Wasn't your mother sad when he left?  If she could see the future, did she know he would--?"

"We're nearly there," said Maleficent curtly instead of answering.  Rose narrowly avoided sighing, but then again, she'd gotten much further in this conversation than she'd expected.

Maleficent led Rose around a large mass of rock and indicated a small, dark cavern on the other side.  It was so dark that Rose could not see in at all.  The darkness seemed to swallow the path whole.  Maleficent led them towards it, but Rose held back.

"What if there's something in there?"

The corners of Maleficent's lips quirked upward, so subtly Rose doubted she'd have noticed the smile if she were any farther away, and her dark eyes seemed to glitter with the warm light from the setting sun.  Rose's breath hitched without her permission, and she could not quite convince herself to look away.

That Maleficent was uncommonly beautiful was often overshadowed by how frightening she was.  Yet, in this moment, Briar Rose saw only her beauty, as though she were any other person, and not one capable of death and destruction.

The absurdity of the notion that Maleficent could be just any other person brought Rose back to reality, and at last she turned her attention to the cave with a little shiver she hoped Maleficent did not notice.

Rose clung to Maleficent's arm like a lifeline as they descended into the darkness of the cave.  Her mind focused very unhelpfully on the subtle warmth that radiated from Maleficent's body, the gentle touch of each long, elegant finger against Rose's back, the lean muscle of the arm Rose held in a vise grip.  She could hear Maleficent's quiet, even breathing, could just barely feel it against the top of her head. Maleficent could kill her, right now, she reminded herself.  This could be the end. Her knees began to quiver and her hands to sweat, but the only thing there was for her to cling to was the very person who engendered her fear.

Then, suddenly, Rose became aware of something else in the growing darkness, a faint rustling trhat turned her stomach.  She imagined an entire family of spiders, a hundred rats, a thousand bats, or something she had never seen, never even heard of.  There was no telling what kind of creatures lived in this Dragon Country.

She felt just the faintest wisp of warm breath, right next to her ear. "It's all right," Maleficent murmured, her low, resonant voice flooding Rose's very heart.

 _Touch the spindle_ , murmured the same voice, and despite the terror that gripped her heart, Rose was powerless to disobey. At that moment, Rose would have followed her anywhere, done anything she asked, trusted Maleficent with her life.

Maleficent drew herself up to her full height, thereby distancing herself from Rose's ear, and then she made a small clicking noise with her tongue. The rustling ceased, and was replaced by small, scurrying footsteps.

The creature that emerged from nowhere in the darkness had glowing greenish-yellow eyes which illuminated enough of its face for Rose to see that it was scaly and had a little snout. When it blinked, it disappeared completely.

Suddenly there was light, emanating from a little orb Maleficent held in her hand.  Rose blinked and struggled to take in the new information she'd been offered--the walls of the cave, the something in Maleficent's hand that radiated more than just light, and the creature who stood before them, the size of a small horse or a large dog, scaly and winged and scurrying with the talons of a monster.

It looked exactly the way dragons looked on paper, and yet Rose could not wrap her mind around its existence here before her.  The dragon's scales were the same deep green of the hills at their back, but its wings hardly looked big enough to carry the weight of its body.

"It's a--" Rose breathed, but the word _baby_ didn't seem to fit, and so she kept it to herself.

The dragon which might well be a baby stretched out its neck and held its head high, aloof and haughty, reminiscent of Maleficent, the dragon in disguise. It took a deep, luxurious breath, reared its head back, and blew out a steady stream of fire which threw colourful sparks, and filled the entire cave with warmth and light.

"Showoff," said Maleficent softly, almost fondly.

Rose could not breathe. She could not move, and yet she felt a gentle hand on her back guiding her forward on legs which could barely hold her upright. She glanced up into Maleficent's dark eyes, utterly at a loss. Maleficent nodded, something like encouragement, and Rose dared to step forward of her own volition.

The dragon turned its head to face her, as if to say, _how impressive am I?_ and suddenly Rose felt a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She closed the distance with surer steps and reached out her hand. "May I?" she breathed.

The dragon eyed her with a tilt of his head, and Rose was stricken by the intensity of its luminous eyes. Finally it seemed to decide in her favour, and it bowed its head beneath her hand.

She touched the scales on the top of the dragon's head reverently. She could not possibly have imagined before now what scales would feel like. She examined the small ridge at the top of its head which protected the bones in its long neck. She ran her hand down its neck and felt the powerful muscles shift slightly as the dragon kept its eyes steadfastly trained upon her.  How old must this dragon be, who seemed like it might yet be a child?  Did it have a family?  What had happened here in Maleficent's absence?

Rose reclaimed her hand and bowed her head.  "Thank you," she said.  The dragon retreated into the shadows of the cave, and Rose leaned heavily against the wall, lowering herself to her knees.

Maleficent approached with soft footsteps.  She blew upon the light she held in her hand and allowed it to float up into the air above them.  "As far as she knows, she is the last of her kind here."

Rose could think of nothing to say, nothing to ask.

Maleficent joined her on the floor, and suddenly Rose noticed that it wasn't as quiet here as it was outside.  There were little sounds of life inside this cave, and the notion was strangely comforting.

Maleficent was not in a similar state of mind.

"There used to be hundreds—perhaps thousands of them," she continued, scarcely above a whisper.  Her voice, that voice she'd have gladly followed to her death a few moments prior, sounded strangely hollow.  "All gone."

Rose looked up.  Maleficent wasn't looking at her, or the dragon, or anything.  Her eyes gazed unseeing at the entrance to the little cave, chased the fading light of day.

"It must have been recent," said Maleficent.  "She's young yet.  Her memories hold an explosion, a storm of some sort, the elders falling ill, and then the other children..."  Maleficent sighed heavily.  "Dragons have such long lives.  I'd hoped if I found them, I might..."

She'd hoped she might find an old friend.  A familiar face.  Someone she knew.  Rose's first impulse was to reach out in comfort, to touch Maleficent's arm or her shoulder or take her hand, to tell her that she wasn't alone, that they had one another, and perhaps they might not understand one another, but they could listen, and they could try.

But she remembered how Maleficent had lashed out at her before when Rose had surprised her, remembered how an outstretched hand could hurt, and so she stayed her hand and she waited, hoping Maleficent would continue.

"I feel..." Maleficent inhaled slowly.  "I feel alone. Empty." She was silent for another moment, and then added, with a little huff of something indiscernible, "I feel as though I've lost a piece of myself."

 _We have that in common_ , Rose wanted to say, almost did say, but she thought better of it.  She hadn't lost her family, or even her childhood.  Not forever.  Everyone she loved was still alive.  She was the one who had run away.

Guilt washed over her like it had been lying in wait.  They were probably searching for her by now.  They probably thought she'd been kidnapped.  They must be worried she'd already been killed.  That had been Maleficent's plan, after all.  Maleficent had wanted to kill her.

Rose closed her eyes and did her best to push these thoughts aside, for they were of little use to her now.  She did not try to tell Maleficent that they were one and the same, because of course they weren't.  Instead, she turned so that she was face to face with Maleficent, met her glassy gaze and saw the unspeakable sadness that clouded her eyes, and she reached out in the only way she knew.  She held out both of her hands so that Maleficent could clearly see them, and she held Maleficent's face between her hands.

Maleficent's eyes widened subtly, but she did not lash out, and she did not pull away.

She considered telling Maleficent that she wasn't alone, not anymore, but this, too, fell short of what she wanted to say. These words would mean nothing to Maleficent. Maleficent _was_ alone. She had been alone for a very long time—perhaps for more than a century, several times Rose's own lifetime. One foolish girl sitting here stupidly with her arms outstretched wasn't going to change that.

She was stricken by the desire to embrace Maleficent, to curl up next to her until she felt the warmth, even if it took years.  But of course that was no way to go about anything.  Maleficent hadn't lashed out or pulled away from Rose's touch, but she remained wary of it.  Even now, Rose could see her waiting, watching like the dragon, wondering what Rose meant to do.

Maleficent would loathe Rose's pity.  She would not understand her affection. She would lash out against her attempts to comfort.  And why shouldn't she?  Who was Briar Rose to her?  Perhaps she was barely restraining herself from snapping Rose's neck right on the spot.

This thought caused Rose to withdraw her hands and fold them in her lap.  The truth was that she didn't know what to say or what to do.  Of course she didn't.  What could Briar Rose know of a sadness that spanned a century?

Somewhere in the shadows, untouched by Maleficent's magical light, the young dragon settled in for the night.  She thought of what Maleficent had said, that she'd looked into the eyes of dragons and seen herself in them.

"She's...magnificent," Rose whispered at last.

If Rose weren't sitting so close to Maleficent, she would not have seen her brow furrow, her eyes gloss over with momentary confusion, for the expression passed as quickly as it had come, and it was replaced by a small, cautious smile. "I thought you'd like her."

Rose looked down at her own hands.  "We'll fix it," she said, with a certainty that surprised her, and she hoped that perhaps Maleficent might understand a fraction of what she could not put into words.  She'd brought them here, by her actions, her choices, and she could not return--not to the life she'd once known, and not to the life which was meant to be her destiny.

Whatever her true motivations, Maleficent had kept her bargain.  Briar Rose had given Maleficent her freedom, and Maleficent had given Briar Rose her own.  Now Briar Rose must decide what to do with the chance she'd been afforded.

"We'll fix it," she said again, looking up.  Perhaps she didn't understand the impact of centuries, or the deep inner workings of a wicked fairy, but she knew what it was to feel powerless, to feel alone.  She could try to help.  She could try to understand.

Maleficent nodded slowly, and there was no confusion in her eyes.  "Yes," she said simply.  Agreement.  Or perhaps...acceptance.

Impulsively, Rose reached out again.  A fool's move, perhaps, but Rose felt oddly certain that the woman she saw before her now was not the same one who wished her harm.  As slowly as she could manage, she drew Maleficent into an embrace, settled herself against Maleficent's stiff, angular frame, and waited--most probably to be removed.

Rose waited, and waited, but Maleficent did not push her away, and Rose was unwilling to relent.  She felt as though it had been forever since she had been so close to anyone at all, and being allowed this close to Maleficent felt like a rare and delightful secret, most likely one she would never be permitted to repeat.

When at last Maleficent moved, to Rose's immense surprise, it was to return the embrace, albeit so cautiously, so stiffly it was almost awkward.  Rose held her breath, fought the urge to grin foolishly or to tighten her own embrace out of sheer joy.  Instead, she resettled herself until she was comfortable, and focused her attention on taking slow, even breaths.

The last light from the sun faded from the cave's entrance, and soon after, Maleficent's magical light began to fade, as well.  Soon the cave fell once more into utter darkness, and Briar Rose began to feel the pull of a more restful slumber than she had known in weeks.

The last thing she heard was the slow, steady breathing of sleep, and she could not be certain whether it was the dragon or the wicked fairy.


	4. The Unknown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter changed a lot hahaha but I don't think there's any new information, just moved some stuff around, tightened some conversations, set up some later stuff better. Thanks for sticking with me!

Leah was devastated.

For a few short weeks, a handful of days, she had dared to believe that it was over.  Her daughter had been returned to her, her heiress had been happily married to Prince Philip of the North, and the dark fairy had been slain.  Everything had worked out.  Everything would be all right now.  It was over.

She might have known better.  Leah had been warned all her life not to tangle with magical creatures.  They were not human, and they did not play by the same rules.  They did not show mercy.  They did not forget, and unlike most humans, they had the means to exact terrible revenge when their impossible demands were not met.

She'd been so young then, so frightened.  It had seemed like the only option.

Stefan was a kind man.  Too kind.  In another lifetime, Leah would have broken his heart.  But in this life, where she had backed herself into countless corners and torn herself asunder trying to claw her way out, Stefan had taken her in as his wife and his queen.  She was eternally in his debt, for she knew what would have awaited her had she remained in her own kingdom.  She would have died alone, a disgrace to her family.  No man would have taken her for any noble reason, even despite her legendary beauty.  She had made too many mistakes.  She would not have been given another chance.

The marriage should have been a favour to both of them.  Leah could start anew with almost no chance of anyone discovering her shameful secret, and Stefan could marry a woman of noble blood who was near to his own age and who could still bear children.

Good, gentle Stefan blamed himself.  She saw the look in his eyes, the way they slowly lost their shine, the way his posture gradually sagged and slumped.  One night, shortly after the two year anniversary of their marriage, as they lay together in the dark, Leah heard Stefan begin to speak softly.  “I am so sorry, my Leah,” he said.  “I have failed you as a husband.  I have failed as a man.  You are so healthy and so beautiful...and I am defective.  I cannot give you a child.  I cannot give our kingdom an heir to the throne.”

Leah began to weep and clasped a hand over her mouth, trying desperately to remain silent.  His words caused her heart to ache, for she knew that it could not be his fault.  She was certain that he could give any other woman a child with no trouble.  The worst of it was that if he were any other man, he would have already done so.  There were a fair number of good-looking common girls working in the castle.  She had even seen a pretty blonde tending the gardens the other day.  Stefan’s good friend King Hubert of the North would certainly not have waited for two years to call upon that blonde for assistance in this matter.

Stefan needed an heir.  There were so few young people in the Kingdom of the East as it was.  Stefan was, himself, relatively young, but it wouldn’t do to have a child much later than this.  Suppose something were to happen to Stefan?  Leah was not fit to rule at all.  One of Stefan’s advisors would take over, or another kingdom would take over, or…heaven knew what would happen.

Leah felt Stefan’s fingers stroking her hair, just the little bit at the temple, and her quiet weeping turned into wracking sobs that she could not contain.  She curled up into a ball and all but threw herself at Stefan, who let out a small noise of surprise and obligingly wrapped his arms around her.  “Shhh,” he whispered into her hair.  “You mustn’t cry, my wife.  I didn’t mean to upset you.  It is my shortcoming, not yours.”

Leah wrapped her arms around Stefan’s bare chest and squeezed him tightly, unable to control her sobs enough to speak the words she knew she must.

When she had been introduced to Stefan a little over two years before, she had been ever so slightly repulsed by him.  He wasn’t particularly attractive—he had a plain face which he attempted to disguise with a lot of facial hair.  Their wedding night had been awkward at best, and she had for some time avoided having marital relations with him whenever possible.

It wasn’t as though Stefan ever forced himself upon her.  He implied his interest with an awkwardness that ranged from artless to truly mortifying, and more often than not she felt it would be rude to decline.  What Stefan lacked in looks, he made up in goodness, honour, and kindness.  Stefan was a man of strong morals.  He believed in the power of truth.  He believed that good would always triumph over evil.  Stefan was unfailingly kind to Leah, and Leah seldom saw a reason to turn him away simply because she did not want him.

She had wanted all of those men back in her homeland, and what had that gotten her?

One day, while they were speaking, Leah began to examine his eyes.  They were nice—perhaps the most attractive thing about him.  They were bright blue and they reflected all of the things he believed in.  They were kind and strong and good.  Leah did not remember what he had been talking about.  She did not remember the specific day, what he had been wearing, or what the weather was like outside.  But after that day, Leah had begun to love Stefan, and some time after she began to love him, she began to feel some desire for him.  It was nothing like what she had felt before.  It did not consume her thoughts or set her body on fire.  It was borne of a great trust and respect for him that she desired closeness with him.  And she decided that this feeling was in many ways more valuable than the other.

Two years into their marriage, their nakedness did not feel awkward or disgusting to her anymore.  She felt close to him.  As close as she could be, given her long list of lies.

“Do you know Madeleine?” she asked, attempting to sound casual even though she had just been crying.

She felt Stefan’s head shift to look down at her, “The little blonde maid?  That Madeleine?”

“Yes, her,” Leah swallowed.

“Why?”

_Because you need an heir and I cannot give you one.  Because it isn’t your fault.  Because I am not who you think I am.  Because you are so good.  You are too good for me._

“She’s a quiet, lonely girl,” whispered Leah.  “No one would ever know.”

Stefan pulled Leah up to face him, “Leah,” he said, surprised.  “How could you ever think I would betray you in such a way?”

Tears began streaming anew over Leah’s nose and down her left cheek.  She shifted so that she could put her hands on either side of Stefan’s face, and she told him something she had never dared to tell him before.  “Oh, Stefan, I love you so, so very much.”

The next day, Leah had awoken feeling even more miserable than before.  She had moped about the castle all morning long, unable to consider what Stefan had obviously accepted: that they would not have an heir to the throne.

She remembered the day with strange clarity.  Around noon, the King's councilors had received word that a band of criminals who had been terrorizing Hubert's kingdom for months had finally been apprehended, and that they had claimed unanimously that Mistress Maleficent had enchanted them to perform their many misdeeds.  Maleficent, an infamous wicked fairy who resided to the southwest, had been summoned to the Kingdom of the North for questioning, where she had denied any involvement.

What the report had probably failed to mention was that upon being summoned, Maleficent had most likely piddled about her fortress in the mountains doing whatever it was she did for a few minutes, dusted off her hands, snapped her fingers, and appeared right in Hubert’s sitting room accompanied by a puff of green smoke.  She had probably brandished her staff nonchalantly while she asked what the allegations against her could possibly be, and waved her hand in a show of dismissal, conjuring the faintest aura of magic as she did so.  And she had most certainly expressed her sincerest shock that anyone might accuse her of such a thing.

Leah knew this without ever having laid eyes on Maleficent, for Stefan had told her that this was the way every meeting with the wicked fairy went.  She was exceedingly terrifying and also exceedingly polite, which only added to the feeling of unease she engendered.  Maleficent was very powerful and very smart.  All the good fairies in the land couldn’t defeat her, and everyone knew it.  Maleficent made it very clear that she could do anything if she wanted to.

The most terrifying thing about her, though, was that she did not seem to want to do anything.

Few who still roamed the earth had ever laid eyes upon her.  If she did not keep to herself in the Forbidden Mountain, then she did a very good job of hiding.  There were rumours that she was a shapeshifter, but this had not been expressly proven at the time (and indeed would not be confirmed until about seventeen years later).  There were rumours that she was the cause of all the evil in the land, but even when a special committee had been assembled and had come to call on her at random, accompanied by a small army, with the intention of monitoring her activity, she was invariably reported to be at home and engaging in some innocuous activity such as reading a book.

This, her inaction, was the reason she haunted the nightmares of every person in the land.  She was so powerful that she did not need to prove her power.  If pressed, she showed herself, put on her little act, and then disappeared once more to let the rumours fly.  No one knew when at last she would decide to strike.  Beware the sleeping dragon, as the saying went.

People said Maleficent could do anything with her magic.  On that fateful day, when she'd received word that Maleficent had denied involvement in the petty crime of the Northern Kingdom, Leah began to wonder whether Maleficent's power could be bought.

Perhaps the result was to be expected.  Leah certainly felt that way years later, looking back.  SHe had been warned all her life not to tangle with magical creatures.  Fairies were not human, and they did not play by the same rules.  They did not show mercy, they did not forget, and they had the means to exact terrible revenge when their impossible demands were not met.

But how does one explain to one's husband, _oh, darling, we simply must invite the scourge of the three kingdoms_?  Why did Maleficent want to be invited to the child's christening at all?  Was she truly so lonely?  Surely she must have intended to curse the child from the beginning, invitation or no.  Surely it wouldn't have mattered.

And it wasn't as though Leah hadn't tried.  She and Stefan had been called upon to approve every single person on the guest list—the entirety of their own land, most of Hubert's, and the important people from Gavin's kingdom to the far west, from whence Leah hailed.  And when the fellow responsible for the list had read every last name, Leah had asked him, quietly, "What about Mistress Maleficent?"

Leah had never seen an esteemed gentleman's jaw hang open like that.  In retrospect, she imagined Stefan must have longed for the freedom to express a similar sentiment.  Instead, he recoiled from her side, subtly, and murmured with some urgency, "Leah, why would you say such a thing?"

But Leah had never learned how to speak her mind—indeed, she had been rather harshly discouraged from doing so.  A room full of eyes suddenly upon her, waiting in horrified silence for an explanation she did not have, left her feeling dizzy and ashamed.  "I..." she began, "I only think...well, we’ve invited every last person in the kingdom, and nearly everyone from Hubert’s kingdom, and even some of my brother's people.  And—well.  You cannot deny that Maleficent is a...a powerful person.  It would be a terrible slight not to—"

"We most certainly can deny it!" Stefan cut her off, and Leah was stunned by the vehemence in his voice.  "The only reason that witch holds any power at all is because we allow it!  As far as I can tell, she has never demonstrated so much as a fraction of that power she allegedly possesses.”

"But suppose the slight were to..."  Stefan turned upon her with fire in his eyes.  Leah nearly stopped speaking altogether.  "...to anger her?  What if she does something terrible?"

"Leah," said Stefan, with firm hands upon her shoulders.  She knew this tone well—it was a sound meant to silence as much as to soothe.  "I will not allow that fiend near our child.  I will not allow this—this _illusion_ of power she plays at to cast a shadow upon our happy day."

Leah said no more on the matter that day.  As a last resort, she implored that Stefan consult the three good fairies who advised him on the matter, but while they were under no such delusions regarding the truth of Maleficent's power, they agreed with Stefan that Maleficent must not be allowed near the child.

Reluctantly, Leah had trusted in their judgement.  And when the worst had come to pass, after all, Leah had trusted them yet again.  They understood—or thought they understood—how precious Aurora was to their King and Queen.  As far as they knew, Aurora was a miracle from God, not from the devil, herself.  If they said that hiding Aurora in the forest was the only way to keep her safe, then it was the only way.

Everything seemed to have gone according to plan.  Aurora had appeared as the dawn of a new day at the top of the stairs, and every eye in the grand ballroom had turned to look upon their Lost Princess come home to them at last.  Leah had wept, for she felt Aurora's presence as though a piece of herself had been returned to her.  She loved Aurora as though she had known her for sixteen years, and she had thought perhaps Aurora understood it, too, for Aurora had run to her and embraced her as though they weren't strangers at all.

In the days that followed, however, Leah was not so certain.

Aurora was quiet.  Soft-spoken.  She was polite, certainly, and unfailingly kind, but as time passed and she ought to have settled in, people began to whisper, and to worry.

Aurora was withdrawn.  Fatigued, and distracted, and when she wasn't distracted, she looked distinctly unhappy.

The good fairies assured Leah that Aurora had faced a terrible curse, and that she would take time to recover from the effects of Maleficent's dark magic.  She needed her rest.  She must not have too many visitors, familiar or not.  But she would recover.

Leah wanted to reach out.  She wanted to know what her daughter's life had been like for the sixteen years she had lost, and she wanted to help Aurora to settle into her new life as quickly as possible.  She wanted Aurora to recover.  She wanted the whole matter to be over.

But Leah had never learned how to speak her mind.  If the good fairies insisted that Aurora must be left alone to recover, then who was Leah to argue?

She wished she had argued.  What did it matter now?  Aurora was gone, and this time, she was not safe in the care of the good fairies.  She had been taken captive by Maleficent.  Maleficent had been half-dead, bound with magical chains, and somehow she had still manipulated Aurora into freeing her.  Some illusion of power she played at!

“King Stefan," Mistress Flora was saying, "I think it is time we accept that Maleficent has left the Land of the Three Kingdoms.”

“Very well, I accept it,” Stefan replied curtly.  He had not been himself since Aurora's disappearance.  He had not been himself since Aurora's return.  “What do you propose we do now?"

Flora met Leah's eyes unhappily, then returned her attention to her feet.  "She could be...anywhere, Majesty."

“Then start looking!" Stefan rose from his seat.  "Are you not magical?  It would take my men weeks to reach the nearest kingdom outside of this land.  You could be there in a matter of minutes!  _Anywhere_ should not be impossible to you!”

Mistress Flora stood open-mouthed and defeated.  Mistress Fauna spoke instead.  "With all due respect, Majesty," she said, and punctuated the statement with a curtsey, "Maleficent can be anywhere in a matter of minutes.  We need a bit more time than that."

Stefan was frustrated, and it rendered him unsympathetic.  Before he had fully begun to bluster, Leah rose from her seat and stayed him with a hand at his arm.  She didn't know exactly what she meant to say, only that the time had come to say it.  "Please," she said softly.  "Forgive us our impatience.  Is there...isn't there anything you can try?"

It must not have been the worst thing to say, for Mistress Flora regained her composure and stepped forward with her usual energy.  "Of course, your Majesty.  We meant to say that we wish to search judiciously.  Rather than strike out at random, we've compiled a bit of research on lands where Maleficent was known to spend time over the years before she took up residence here."

"And?" Stefan urged, and the good fairies returned their attention from Leah to Stefan.

"Well, it's said that Maleficent spent a number of years in the Land of Hill and Valley—that would be the first stop, as it's a short journey.  She seems to have had acquaintances in the Kingdom by the Sea, the Desert Lands, the Land of the Black Forest, and the Mountainlands.  She also seems to have some connection to the Kingdom Between Two Rivers—none of the books I’ve found have much to offer, but apparently there is a land nearby known as the Dragon Country.  Given what we have recently learned about Maleficent’s shapeshifting abilities, that seems a worthy destination."

As they continued to talk without her, Leah reclaimed her seat and closed her eyes a moment.  So many names of places with which she was only distantly familiar.  She'd seen pictures of the Sea Kingdom, heard dark tales of widespread fairy mischief in the Land of Hill and Valley, but she knew next to nothing of the other places Mistress Flora had mentioned.

Leah began to feel sick to her stomach.  Maleficent could be anywhere by now.  This endless, swirling list of far-off places was an improvement, an effort, and what did it amount to?

Poor Aurora!  How must she be kept under Maleficent's care?  Was she locked away in some terrible place like a prisoner, taunted and tormented all her days?  Was she permitted to see whatever distant land she'd been whisked away to, hypnotized and manipulated into believing she was safe?  Had Maleficent told Aurora of Leah's shameful secret, and had Aurora believed her?

Or had Maleficent already taken Aurora's life as she'd planned to do all along?

* * *

If Briar Rose had hoped she'd made some sort of a breakthrough where Maleficent was concerned, she would have been sorely mistaken.

On the contrary, Maleficent was colder and more aloof than ever.  The following morning, Maleficent barely spoke to her at all, and though she did not go so far as to address Rose as Princess Aurora, she settled upon a very pointed _Your Highness_.

For the next several days, Maleficent left the fortress before Rose had awoken, and returned long after nightfall.  If Rose was still awake, Maleficent regarded her with a tense sort of surprise.  It seemed absurd that Maleficent should have reason to avoid her.  At worst, Rose had expected to be thrown out into the wild unknown for her forwardness.  At best, she'd hoped for grudging tolerance.  This...Briar Rose did not know how to respond to this.

For all her reckless abandon over the past few weeks, Briar Rose vastly preferred to follow the rules.  In a place far outside the realm of rules Rose knew, only Maleficent's word served as her guide.  Maleficent had warned her that this land might not be safe, and that she oughtn't to venture out into it alone.  Rose was hesitant to disobey.  She stayed indoors.

To pass the time, she wandered the castle collecting a small stack of the least threatening books she could find.  She arranged them in a small pile before a cosy chair in the main hall, and spent her days stumbling through them.

If her aunties could see her now!  Each had tried in her own way to help Rose improve her reading, but the practice had never caught Rose's interest.  The afternoons she spent trying and failing to read would have been so much better spent out in the forest, climbing trees or talking to her animal friends or just soaking up the sun that filtered through the treetops.  Reading was difficult, and boring, and unnecessary.

Not for the first time since she had learned of her true identity, Rose wished she had paid better attention.  Back in the Eastern Kingdom, her desire had been rooted in a sudden and overwhelming terror for her ineptitude.  Now, the feeling was a bit different.  The books Briar Rose had selected were of no practical use to her—as far as she could tell, they mostly described magic spells that existed and what they accomplished.  But they were a feature of this new existence Briar Rose had chosen for herself.  There was so much in this world Briar Rose had never even dreamed of, and she wanted to understand it.

At night, Maleficent crept in through the door in the kitchens.  When she saw Rose sitting up, she said something to the effect of, "It's rather late.  Don't you need your rest?"  No comment upon the book Rose was attempting to read, no information about where she had been, and her tone was cold.

It made Rose's heart ache, and she did not have the wherewithal to attempt conversation in spite of Maleficent's coldness.  She simply nodded her agreement, clutched her book to her chest, and went upstairs to bed.

Some time passed in this way.  Since she had so much time to do so, Rose finally found a book she could actually read.  She had overlooked it at first because the title was so long: _The Biography of Mistress Acacia of the Kingdom by the Sea_ , written by Mistress Kinsale of the Kingdom of Hill and Valley.  But the language of the book was not dense like the others, and it was not a list of magical spells Rose could never hope to understand.  Rather, it seemed to be merely the story of a person's life—more precisely, the story of a wicked fairy's life.

Acacia was the last daughter of a wicked fairy called Mistress Cordelia.  The book referred to Mistress Cordelia as a fairy everyone should know about already.  She had outlived many children, but Acacia was her last.  When Acacia was still very young, a good fairy called Mistress Sara had defeated her.

That wasn't the way the book phrased it—in the book it seemed like Rose ought to know what had happened to Mistress Cordelia already.

When Rose grew weary of trying to make sense of a story she felt like she ought to know, she read about the author.  Mistress Kinsale was referred to as a member of the Dark Fae, who resided in the Land of Hill and Valley.  There was a list of other biographies she had written, a mention of her mother, Mistress Dalia, and a note that she had "no sisters, only four brothers."

Rose quickly lost track of the days.  Some time must have passed, for she actually began to enjoy reading.  She pieced together that Mistress Sara had enchanted all the beasts of the field and forest to rise up against Cordelia, and that many of them had been slain in the final battle against her, leaving the kingdom poor and hungry for many years thereafter.  She was engrossed in trying to understand what happened next when Maleficent spoke, and the exchange had become so familiar to her that she paid it very little mind.

"Good evening, Briar Rose."

"What does transience mean?" she asked without thinking.

A moment's silence passed.  The people of the Sea Kingdom had begun to blame Acacia for their barren lands, 'for humans are forgetful in their transience.'  Acacia was still living in her mother's home following Cordelia's death, but she had not taken ownership of the land—

"Something that is transient is brief, fleeting," said Maleficent.  "It does not last."

Rose looked up, more than a little surprised to have received an answer.  Maleficent stood at the threshold to the kitchen, hands folded atop some kind of fancy walking stick with a glass orb for its handle.

Awkwardness overwhelmed her.  In her desperation for company, she had somehow managed to forget how intimidating Maleficent was.  Without even saying anything, Maleficent's mere presence compelled Rose to run and hide in her borrowed room.  But running away would accomplish nothing.  How long had they already coexisted in this uneasy stasis?

Rose refocused her attention upon the book.  "'Humans are forgetful in their transience,'" she quoted.  "Humans are...brief and fleeting, and they don't last...so they are forgetful?"

"Mistress Acacia," said Maleficent.  She took a step forward.

Rose nodded.

"I remember being fond of that phrase.  The humans of the Sea Kingdom forgot all about the war Mistress Sara had waged, and instead blamed Acacia for their food shortage, even though she was still very young, and many believed she was not even capable of such a magical feat."

"But..." Rose shook her head.  "Why?  How could everyone have forgotten?"

Maleficent continued her steady approach.  "Those are two very different questions," she said.

Rose didn't speak.  She feared that anything she could say might break whatever spell had drawn Maleficent nearer, and she desperately did not want to be left alone again.

"To the humans, it must have seemed like a very long time had passed—several decades, by most accounts.  The lifetime of a human seems very brief to a fairy."

"Oh," Rose breathed.

"And as to why they would elect to blame Acacia," Maleficent continued, "well, who else?"

"Mistress Sara," said Rose.  "It was her fault."

"Mistress Sara saved them," Maleficent countered.

"But she should have been more careful!"

Maleficent's lips twitched into a small smile, but the expression vanished as quickly as it had appeared.  "What would you do, Briar Rose," she wondered, "if faced with an all-powerful wicked fairy who had terrorized your people for generations?  Would you proceed with caution?"

"I...what?"  What would Rose do?  Rose didn't know what to do with anything!

"Or would you do whatever you thought necessary for survival?"

Rose didn't know how to respond.  She didn't know what to make of Maleficent's argument, with all the context she felt she must be missing.  Again she was overcome by the sense that this was a story she ought to know already.

Maleficent did not press her further, however.  "It's an interesting phrase," she said.  "Very...diplomatic.  Many of the dark fae hold a particular resentment for humans, and it shows in their writing.  Mistress Kinsale is a fascinating woman in many respects, but particularly for the way she sees the world."

"You know her?"

The peculiar little smile resurfaced, and this time it lingered a moment.  "I did, once."

Rose felt a terrible pang of sorrow, and subconsciously she clutched the book more tightly to her chest.  "She's...dead?"

Maleficent's smile fell, and she raised her eyebrows.  "No, no, Mistress Kinsale is very much alive."

Rose felt a rush of relief.  It struck her as odd that she should be so attached to an idea of a person, yet this, Mistress Kinsale's book, was the first one Briar Rose had ever enjoyed reading.

"I meant that I haven't spoken with her in many years," Maleficent clarified.  "I doubt I know very much about her anymore."

Something that had caught in Rose's mind suddenly reclaimed her attention.  "The bit about her in the back," she said, all in a rush, as though Maleficent might disappear if she didn't get all the words out in time, "it says she has no sisters, only brothers."  She wasn't sure what she meant to say.  "The way it's written, it's as though brothers are...unimportant.  As though having no sisters is unusual."

It's different with humans, she almost amended, but the words caught in her throat.  "I'm not sure what I'm trying to ask," she said at last.

Maleficent surprised her again by coming to sit down in the chair across from hers.  She leaned her strange walking stick against the chair as she spoke.  "Men are not regarded as the pillars of fairy society," she said.  "The good and the wicked differ considerably in the importance they place upon men, but the vast majority of male fairies are nomadic and possess minimal magical prowess.  As such, they rarely possess desirable skills, hold dominion over elements, keep records of themselves and their travels, et cetera."

"But then how do—" Rose began impulsively, but embarrassment caught up with her before she could finish the question that had come to mind.  She averter her eyes, and fiddled with the cover of the book in her lap.  "I mean..it seems that all these wicked fairies have...many siblings," she said, slowly.  "Are they all...are they all of different fathers?"

Maleficent's first response was a small huff of amusement.  "That would make sense, wouldn't it?  Surprisingly, it's not the usual way.  Mistress Cordelia certainly had many men over the course of her life, but most of the wicked fairies I've known couldn't be bothered.  They mate when a male catches their fancy, and the male often stays around for a few years.  Inevitably, though, he feels the urge to move on, and the woman is left to raise their children largely alone."

"And you never knew anything about your father?" Rose pressed.  "Didn't you ever want to meet him, or—?"

"No," Maleficent cut her off.  "Why would I?"

"Because he's a part of you!" Rose cried.  "Because your parents brought you into the world, and how could they just abandon you?  How could they—?"

She stopped, because she realized she was not talking about Maleficent at all.

Maleficent considered her thoughtfully.  "My apologies," she said.  "Your circumstances slipped my mind.  Family ties amongst my kind are understandably quite different than amongst humans."

"My parents won't even come to see me," said Rose, and was surprised to hear the sound of her own voice.  She hadn't meant to speak the words aloud, and now that she had, she very much wished she could take them back.  She didn't want to talk about them.  She didn't want to think about the life she had left behind.

"I take it you expect me to say something," said Maleficent.  Her tone wasn't sharp or cold any longer, but the words stung nonetheless.

Rose hung her head and closed her eyes.  "I don't know," she said.  "Maybe I did."

The silence that followed felt heavy.  Rose looked up to see Maleficent still watching her studiously.  "I'm certain they love you, in their way," she said.  "They are rather misguided people."

Before Rose could think better of it, she responded.  “My aunties told me that you don’t understand love and are incapable of feeling it.”

She had honestly expected Maleficent to lash out.  Perhaps she had even intended it.  She was feeling vulnerable and exposed, and she wanted a fight.  She wanted to yell.  She wanted to feel angry, or anything that wasn't vague and uneasy.

Instead, Maleficent's lips quirked upward, and her eyes brightened somehow.  "Charming," she said.  "They think very highly of me, you know."

To Rose's immense surprise, she felt herself beginning to return the smile.  This subtle shift in the tone of their conversation filled Rose with such joy that she barely restrained herself from embracing Maleficent out of sheer relief.  Instead, she decided to take advantage of the light-hearted turn the conversation had taken.  "So, has a man ever 'caught your fancy?'" she dared.

Maleficent's smile did not fade, but a certain seriousness settled about her, and she averted her eyes.  "No."

"Really?" Rose pressed.  "Never?  Not one?"

Maleficent met her eyes again, and Rose felt her heart twist in her chest.  "Not one," said Maleficent.  The certainty in her tone soothed Rose in a way she could not even begin to understand.

"Well, men must have fancied you, then," she tried.

Maleficent chuckled audibly.  "Fortunately, no," she said, with a lightness that seemed to fill the room.  "What is it your prince likes to call me?  _It?  That Thing?  Beast?  Monster?_   I assure you that is the standard reaction."

The mention of Philip dampened Rose's spirits significantly.  "I hope you know it isn't true," she said with a frown.

Maleficent quirked one brow.  "Isn't it?"

There was something Rose had been thinking, vaguely, but she hadn't been afforded the time or the patience or the courage to put it to words.  Somehow the thought fell from her lips, anyway, like it had been waiting for someone who might listen.  "Philip calls you those things because he won't believe you're a—he won't believe a woman could have bested him.  At least..." she averted her eyes, "...that's what I think."

In her periphery, she could see Maleficent nodding slowly.  "An interesting hypothesis."

"He'd have to be mad to believe it," said Rose, spurred on by Maleficent's approval and her own treacherous desire to speak without fear.  "You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen."

As soon as she'd spoken, Rose felt mortification welling up inside her.  She wished she hadn't spoken, wished she had never begun this conversation at all, and again considered the benefits of running away to hide in her room.

But then again, it wasn't as though the words were untrue.  Rose could not imagine what it must be like to be called a beast and a monster once, let alone all one's life.  Maleficent ought to hear something kinder.

Soothed by this revelation, Rose dared a glance upward.  Maleficent was regarding her with head inclined and eyes slightly narrowed.

"Well," she said at last.  "From the Princess Aurora, who walks with springtime wherever she goes, that is quite a compliment."

Somehow, Rose felt even more embarrassed than she had a moment prior.  "Are you mocking me?"

Maleficent looked faintly taken aback.  "Of course not.  It was part of Flora's gift incantation."

"Gift incantation?"

"I believe it went ‘One gift, beauty rare; gold of sunshine in her hair; lips that shame the red, red rose; she’ll walk with springtime wherever she goes.’”

Rose had heard the words before, but Maleficent's description didn't make their purpose any clearer.  “I don't understand...is it a spell?”

"Bestowed upon you at your christening," said Maleficent.  "An old tradition of the light fae.  When a noble child is born, all the fairies in the land may bestow a gift upon the child.  Flora's was beauty, Fauna's was song, and Merryweather's was a rather clumsy attempt to circumvent a curse of which I'm sure you are aware."

Rose's stomach twisted, and she avoided the obvious question.  “What if Aunt Flora hadn’t given me the gift of beauty?  What would I look like?”

"Much the same, I'm sure.  You share most of Queen Leah's features.  What Flora gave you was a magical quality about your beauty.  It draws people to you, a useful quality for a royal.  If you were of a mind, you could learn to use that magic to ensnare the heart of anyone you pleased.  I daresay Prince Philip has used his handsomeness to that effect."

Rose’s eyes widened.  “Did he use it on me?”

"Most likely," said Maleficent, as though it were nothing.  As though it didn't change everything.  Maleficent seemed to take note of Rose's distress, because she added, "It's not all-powerful.  If indeed he did enchant you, it's doubtful you were under the influence for very long.  You share the same magic.  After a certain point, the trick would become useless on you."

Rose sat in stunned silence for a moment.  Then, like a little flicker of hope in her heart, she realized that if she spoke, Maleficent would not stop her, would not chide her, and might even offer her more information.

"I feel..." she began, and closed her eyes against Maleficent's studious gaze.  "I feel as though my entire life has been...warped, by magic.  I feel as though I'd have an entirely different life without it.  A better one."

"Perhaps," Maleficent agreed, almost gently.  "But you cannot simply wish away all the magic in the world."

"I would if I could," said Rose, surprised by her own vehemence.  "I'd wish it all away.  I'd wish away my aunties and the house in the cottage and the lies they told me, and I'd...  Oh, I'd wish away my parents who abandoned me and my royalty and my beauty and my song and Aunt Merryweather's spell and your curse, and I'd—"  She covered her face with her hands, barely realized there were tears in her eyes.  "I'd lead a normal life," she breathed.  "I'd be a normal, simple peasant girl just as I always have been.  There's nothing extraordinary about me, just magic and lies and—and accidents."

When next she heard Maleficent make a sound, she was certain it was the sound of Maleficent leaving.  It wasn't surprising, nor could Rose blame her, but still, the thought of being left alone again filled Rose with a terrible, sinking sort of sadness.

But instead, Maleficent knelt before her, and when Rose uncovered her face, she saw that Maleficent was offering her hand.  "You must know that isn't true," said Maleficent.

Rose eyed Maleficent's outstretched hand with barely-contained longing, but the strangeness of Maleficent's actions rendered her skeptical.  "Name one thing," she said, in a voice all but broken.

Maleficent folded her hands at her knee.  "You are extraordinarily kind," she said.  "No fairy gifted you with your kind heart."

Rose scoffed and looked away.  “What good has that ever done for me?”

Maleficent looked down with a mirthless chuckle.  "A fair point," she agreed.  "It has done quite a bit of good for me, however."

This caught Rose's attention, and she remembered all at once the way she had felt when Maleficent's life had been placed in her hands.  That they were having this conversation at all, it occurred to her suddenly, was nothing short of a miracle.  Certainly it wouldn't have happened if Rose hadn't decided to free Maleficent, but more than that—if she were to wish away all the magic that had shaped her life, she would be wishing this moment away with it.  She would be wishing Maleficent away.

"You are also extraordinarily brave," Maleficent continued.  "Personally, I would never entrust my life to one such as myself."

“I’m very glad you’re here,” Rose said without preamble.  It was all she could think to say, the only sense she could make of the swirling nonsense of her thoughts.

Maleficent frowned, and averted her eyes.  After a moment, she said, "It's very late," and she stood.

Without thinking, Rose reached out and grabbed onto Maleficent's sleeve.  Maleficent eyed her with thinly-veiled panic.

"Please don't leave before I wake?"

Maleficent's glittering eyes were still affixed to Rose's hand on her arm, and Rose felt so badly for ignoring her discomfort that she relinquished her hold.  Maleficent relaxed visibly.  "As you wish," she said, after a moment.

"Thank you," said Rose as she stood.  She added her book to the little pile she'd made for herself before she succumbed at last to the urge to make a hasty exit.

"Sweet dreams, Briar Rose," said Maleficent softly, and the sound stopped her cold.

Rose dared a glance backward, but Maleficent hadn't yet moved, and she wasn't even looking at Rose.  She was holding the Biography of Mistress Acacia, tracing the words on the cover with her fingertips.

"Sweet dreams," she replied with a little smile, and lingered a moment before she continued her journey up the stairs to safety.

She pulled the covers up over her head and squeezed her eyes closed.  She wanted to comb through every last word of their strange conversation, consider each piece of information she'd been offered and each she hadn't, make note of the questions she still had and the new ones that had been raised, things she believed and things she didn't, things that made sense and things that didn't...but she found as soon as she settled into her pillow that she was far too tired to think clearly about much of anything, and she quickly succumbed to a deep, dreamless sleep.


	5. The Question

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! This chapter gave me some trouble mostly just because of how long it was. I thought about splitting it up, but I'll see how I feel about it while working on the next chapter. Some new info on secondary characters (Fauna's segment is almost completely new), but the main stuff actually didn't end up changing that much. Thanks for sticking with me!

Briar Rose woke the next morning with a renewed sense of hope in her heart.  She donned another borrowed dress in a shade that matched her name and searched the little fortress for any sign of Maleficent, to see if she had made good on her promise.  Sure enough, she found Maleficent sitting at the desk in her childhood bedroom, attention engaged in one of the scores of books piled there.

"Good morning," said Rose quietly, toes just barely over the room's threshold.

Maleficent looked up sharply, but that was the only evidence of her surprise.  Her expression was cool and collected as ever.  "Good morning, Briar Rose," she said.  "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you," Rose felt herself beginning to smile with something like relief.  Maleficent had kept her promise.  "What are you reading?"

“Good fairy drivel,” Maleficent said, waving her hand dismissively at the offending book.

“What does that mean?”

Maleficent closed the book and showed her the cover.  It was called _The Big Book of Spells, Volume IV_.  “The Big Book of Spells—sounds like it ought to be made for children.  Utter nonsense.”

Rose dared a step into the room.  "Then why are you reading it?"

Maleficent held the book out for her.  "One of your good fairies cast a spell I'd like to undo."

"What spell could my aunties know that you don't?" Rose wondered without thinking.  She looked up from the book, somewhat embarrassed by her own words.

Maleficent considered her a moment.  "I have a raven companion named Diablo.  Someone..." she inclined her head "...turned him into stone."  She paused, as though she expected a response.  When she received none, for Briar Rose could not begin to think of what to say, she amended, "I suspect Merryweather.  Flora's specialties lie more along the lines of...bubbles and flowers, and Fauna wouldn't hurt an animal."

Rose stared blankly in response.  For a moment she could not even comprehend the information she'd been offered.  "I thought...I mean...didn't you say good fairies couldn't harm another creature?"

"The thing about rules," Maleficent extended her hand and Rose returned the book to her, "is that there is always a way around them.  Indeed, I daresay your precious good fairies did you a fair bit of harm without, oh, say, physically hurting you."  She reopened the book, flipped a few pages.  "However, in this case, I believe the exception was that a good fairy ought to do anything in her power to defeat a wicked fairy.”

Rose averted her eyes abruptly, and focused her attention upon the fabric of her crimson dress.  "They didn't mean to.  Hurt me, I mean."

She was sure she could feel Maleficent's eyes upon her.  “Perhaps not,” said Maleficent, “but it hurt all the same, did it not?”

Rose frowned in the general direction of her feet.  “Have you...figured out which spell it was?”

"If I had," Maleficent replied crisply, "I would have used my newfound knowledge to turn all ten volumes of The Big Book of Spells into so many soap bubbles."

The absurdity of it caught Rose's attention, and she found that her mood had brightened almost instantly.  "Bubbles?" she echoed.  "Like..."  Like Aunt Flora, she'd meant to say, but the name caught in her throat.

Maleficent flicked a finger at a book of similar size to the one she was reading, and with a little pop, the book dissolved into what, indeed, appeared to be very colourful soap bubbles, which in turn dissolved into nothingness.

“Well, there goes Volume I,” said Maleficent.  She feigned disappointment for a moment, but she was eyeing Rose surreptitiously all the while, as though gauging her reaction.

Rose felt herself beginning to smile, and felt strange and wrong for doing so.  Something about feeling happy, or light-hearted, let alone amused, did not seem appropriate to the direness of her circumstances.  She had run away from her home and her family, everything she had ever known, to free a woman everyone considered to be a monster and a madwoman.  How could she be happy?

"You know," said Maleficent, almost coyly, "I no longer have any use for Volume II."

"What?" Rose was certain she felt all the warmth, all the lightness, drained from the room as quickly as it had come.

Maleficent took another large book from her endless pile and held it out to Rose.  "Would you like to claim the honour of destroying it?" she asked lightly, like it was nothing.  Like it was a joke.

"I don't understand."  She felt cold.  Cold and terrified, and of what?  A book?

Maleficent raised one shoulder in a shrug.  "Rip it up.  Bury it.  Burn it, for all I care.  Perhaps you would find it cathartic."

Rose took the book into her hands, gingerly, as though it might be the one to burn her.  She stammered an unintelligible string of syllables which contained words such as "I don't...I can't...I couldn't—"

But Maleficent inclined her head until she caught Rose's eye, and she brought Rose's senseless protestation to a merciful conclusion.  "Or leave it awhile," she said, with a little lilt to her voice that suggested amusement.  "Perhaps you'll change your mind."

Rose handed the book back to her hurriedly, and felt rather silly for how the whole exchange had frightened her.  It was just a book, not even a wicked fairy book, and Maleficent was offering her an outlet for her...well, for her frustration.  For her resentment of the magic that had shaped her existence.  And Rose felt...she wasn't certain what she felt.

"So, Briar Rose," Maleficent continued pleasantly, replacing the book on the top of the pile, "since you did not take to spending your days here alone, would you care to accompany me on my journey today?"

Perhaps she ought to have mistrusted such a suggestion.  Indeed, perhaps a few days prior, she would have.  Now she felt a surge of joy in her chest.  "Oh, yes!" she breathed without hesitation.  "Where are you going?"

Maleficent turned to face her, lips curled upward in a subtle smile.  "I thought I might visit an old friend in the Land of Hill and Valley."

Rose recognized the name for two reasons.  First, she remembered it as the place where Mistress Kinsale, the author of the Mistress Acacia biography lived.  Second, however, she was fairly certain she remembered it as the name of a land near the Eastern Kingdom, and this vague recollection proved sufficient in quelling her enthusiasm.  "That's...isn't it rather close?  To...well, to our land, I mean?"

A strange sentiment to express.  That Briar Rose and Maleficent should share anything so commonplace as a homeland seemed unthinkable.

"Relatively speaking, yes," said Maleficent as she stood.  "But it's still quite a journey to make without magic.  If your concern is in being spotted, consider first that the chances of King Stefan corresponding regularly with either Hill or Valley King are rather slim, and even in that unlikely circumstance, we will hardly be travelling amongst human nobility.  All that aside, if by some chance anyone of importance were to recognize either of us, by the time word reached the Kingdom of the East, we would have long departed."

Perhaps it should have worried her that there was such a small chance of being found, rather than the other way around.  Perhaps she oughtn't to have trusted so easily in Maleficent's benevolent offer of companionship and adventure.  But as it was, Rose accepted the information Maleficent offered readily.

"I suspect you will find much of interest to you," Maleficent continued, when Rose offered no response.  "Under different circumstances, I would have sent word to Mistress Kinsale to expect us, but I doubt she will be terribly put out by a surprise visit.”

"Mistress Kinsale?" Rose echoed.  "I...I...oh!...I may meet her?” 

Maleficent quirked one eyebrow.  "How many friends in the Land of Hill and Valley do you think I have?"

Rose shook her head, and she began to fidget with her skirt.  Words came pouring out of her as though they'd lain in wait.  "Oh, but I haven't even finished the story of Mistress Acacia yet, why—I'm not even halfway through, and there's a word in every sentence I don't understand, but it's the first book I've ever really enjoyed reading, you see!"  Rose began to pace, nervously, back and forth across what little floor space there was.  "And oh...oh, what if—  Has she written other things?  Won't I seem—" she stopped short when she very nearly ran into Maleficent, and looked up "—terribly stupid?"

Maleficent was quite a bit taller than Rose, something Rose had been able to forget when Maleficent was seated, and she exuded a regal quality which Rose could never imagine herself possessing.  When Rose looked up at Maleficent now, she felt the urge to curtsey, to show some sign of deference to Maleficent's obvious power.  Indeed, she felt the same urge in the presence of her parents, and of Philip's father, the King of the North.  In the present moment, she settled upon lowering her eyes and bowing her head.

"As I may have mentioned to you," said Maleficent quietly, "Mistress Kinsale is a fascinating woman.  She enjoys the company of humans, and has an excellent understanding of human culture and customs.  I doubt she would find you dull even if you could not read a single word."

Rose dared a glance upward.  "Really?"

Maleficent nodded curtly.  "Shall we be on our way?"

Rose felt another strange and surprising smile tugging at her features, and she nodded her assent.

* * *

When Fauna and her sisters were very young, they'd taken a vacation to the Kingdom by the Sea.  It was a rare treat to travel so far from home—a celebration of their coming of age and of their parents' many happy years together before...well.  Even the healthiest and the luckiest of fairies didn't live forever.

On their first day in the grand city that served as the kingdom's capital, there was a parade.  Hundreds of humans and light fairies walked and skipped and marched and fluttered side by side through the streets, waving flags and banners and pretty things and singing their thanks to Mistress Sara, who had driven the dark fairy Mistress Cordelia into the sea.

Fauna and her sisters and her parents had shuffled their way through the crowds until they reached the glittering mansion where Sara lived, and Sara came out onto her balcony and waved, and even from way down below, Fauna remembered the way her smile did not seem to reach her eyes.

Before her trip to the Sea Kingdom, Fauna had always assumed that other light fairies looked and acted and went about their lives the way her family did.  She and her sisters and her parents were accustomed to being small—why, both Merryweather and their mother barely came up to the elbows of most humans—and the story of Mistress Sara sounded like one of those legends that was far prettier than it was truthful, meant to inspire and to guide, not to be taken at its word.

After all, when a young and precocious Flora had asked her parents if she might one day be able to accomplish such a feat, her parents had shared a hearty laugh, and their father had said, "Why don't you see if you can get one stubborn mule to do your bidding, then see if you feel like enchanting a whole forest!"

And perhaps it hadn't been the kindest joke to make, for Fauna could not help but to wonder whether Flora had ever studied quite as hard after that day, and on top of that, she had become significantly more disparaging, herself, in the years that followed.  But a fairy must learn her limits at one time or another.  It was dangerous to reach beyond one's capabilities.

But the fairies in the Sea Kingdom looked so different!  They were tall, and magic seemed to radiate from them, and none of them looked very much like Fauna or her family at all!  Mistress Sara didn't have any wings at all as far as Fauna could tell, she carried a scepter instead of a wand, and she wore a dress that bared her arms all the way up to her well-muscled shoulders.  She must have been well past one hundred years of age by then, and yet, like an adolescent, she wore her dark-golden hair all the way down to her waist and bore a crown fashioned from wildflowers atop her head.

Fauna believed quite suddenly that perhaps the story was much truer than it had seemed to her before.  Mistress Sara could very well have enchanted all the beasts in the land to aid her in her legendary battle.  Something about the way she carried herself, the way she waved with her well-muscled arm, the way her steely eyes did not match her beautiful smile, gave the impression that she could achieve things Fauna could scarcely dream of.

That evening, after her parents had gone to bed and Flora and Merryweather were embroiled in an extensive argument tangentially related to a silly card game, Fauna walked down to the beach by herself, kicked off her shoes, and watched the sunset with her feet buried in the sand.

"Mind if I join you?" came a woman's voice over her shoulder.

"Of course not," Fauna had already begun to say before she caught sight of her new companion in the fading light of day.

It was a wicked fairy.  Fauna had never seen one up close before, and the mere sight of seafoam green skin caused her to flinch noticeably.

"Changed your mind?" said the wicked fairy with a devilish smirk.

"I—" Fauna swallowed.  She knew what her parents and her sisters would do.  Perhaps she ought to have left straight away.  But at the moment Fauna was feeling that her perception of the world and its inhabitants had thus far been woefully limited, and so she chose another path.  "No.  I'm sorry," she said with a forced smile.  "It's just that I've never met a wicked fairy before."

The wicked fairy's sharp features twisted into a smile.  "Well, well!" she said, and plopped down in the sand not far from where Fauna sat. "A tiny good fairy with a drop of courage!  Will wonders never cease?"

Fauna returned her attention to the ocean before them.  "I didn't know I was tiny before today," she said.

"Here for the parade?" the wicked fairy asked her.

"Not exactly," said Fauna, "but it was hard to miss."  She looked at the wicked fairy again, suddenly.  "Do you suppose it's possible that Mistress Sara really did all the things the stories say?"

The wicked fairy smiled again, a little softer, and her pale eyes caught the light from the setting sun.  "Yes, I'd say she certainly did more than she didn't.  Why do you ask, little fairy?"

Fauna looked away again, and she began tracing shapes in the sand while she thought about what she meant to say.  "My sisters and I...and our parents, we...none of us has the kind of magic that could do anything like that."

"Well," said the wicked fairy slowly, "natural skill is nice, of course, but it's hardly what separates someone like Sara from your average light fairy.  Truth be told, I'm not particularly magically gifted, myself, but that's never stopped me from reaching well beyond what ought to be my limits."

"It's dangerous," said Fauna without thinking, but the wicked fairy was still smiling.

"Definitely," she agreed pleasantly. "But a life ruled by fear is sure to be a very dull one, little fairy.  Oh!" she exclaimed suddenly and threw her head back.  Her hair, an ornate arrangement of pale green ringlets, cascaded over her shoulders.  Now that the sun had set the stars and moon were becoming clearer, and she seemed to glow in the light they shed.  "What a lovely night!  A friend of mine likes to make up constellations.  See those, there?"  She traced a cluster of stars.  "She calls that the Two Lovers, because she thinks they look like trees that grew around one another..."

The wicked fairy's cheerful tone suddenly faded, and she let out a little huff of something reminiscent of laughter.  "I'm messing it all up," she said, almost sadly, and then she stood and began to brush the sand from her skirt.  "It sounds stupid when I say it, but I swear the way she tells it, it's beautiful.  Anyway, enjoy the Sea Kingdom, little fairy.  May you find..." she frowned thoughtfully, looked up at the stars once more.  "May you find inspiration here, to do or to be whatever it is that seems so impossible to you."

"...should have completely sapped her magic!" Flora was saying in the present.

If the strangeness of the emotion that coloured her words hadn't caught Fauna's attention, Merryweather's elbow to her ribs certainly would have. "You still haven't bothered to tell us how you got those old things!"

"From Mistress Felicity!" Flora snapped.  "I told you already, you fool—it's just that you never listen!"

"I think what Merryweather means is that it all happened very suddenly from our perspective, Flora."

Flora turned a withering look and a long-suffering sigh upon Fauna.  "That wouldn't have concerned you if the chains had worked," she remarked coolly.  "And they should have!  Why, Felicity told me they'd worked on every other wicked fairy in the history of their existence!"

Fauna glanced back to Merryweather, and Merryweather mercifully returned her look of quiet concern.  Just because Fauna and her sisters had been next to useless without their magic did not mean that Maleficent was.  All the enchanted chains in the world could not rob her of her clever mind, or of her talent for manipulation...but Flora did not need to be told that, not just now.

"Well," Merryweather began, with as much restraint as she had ever demonstrated, "then it's a good thing we'll be paying Mistress Felicity a visit, right?  She'll be able to—"

Flora cut her off with a scoff.  "And if we're too late already?" she wondered darkly.

"Flora!" Fauna cried.

"A lot of good wandering all across the world grasping at straws will do us if Rose is already—"

"Flora," Fauna said again, as firmly as she knew how, and with an outstretched hand.  "You know what Maleficent is like—she won't just be done with the whole thing like that.  It just isn't how she works.  Why, Rose could be perfectly fine!"

"Oh, I'm sure Rose is just _fine_ with Maleficent!" Merryweather spat.  "Why didn't we think of her for a babysitter?"

"Merryweather, you aren't being very helpful—"

"I'm being realistic," Merryweather countered firmly.  "You're probably right—Rose probably isn't dead.  But I highly doubt she's having a picnic!"

"That's not what I meant at all, Merryweather!"

 “Girls, girls,” Flora said, with a half-hearted wave of her hands.  “Pack your things.  We leave for the Land of Hill and Valley tonight.”

The room fell eerily silent.  Fauna and Merryweather exchanged a glance, nodded, and left to obey their orders.

Everything had fallen apart so quickly.  For a moment it had seemed that Maleficent might be defeated for good!  The Land of the Three Kingdoms could declare a Golden Age of Prosperity, and then it would become the Land of the Two Kingdoms as Stefan and Hubert’s lands began construction to merge into one and Philip and Aurora grew into the King and Queen of the United Kingdoms of North and East.

Though Fauna personally did not believe it was necessary to execute Maleficent, Flora and Merryweather were very set on the matter.  She'd found it extremely troubling a few days ago, but now she wondered if they might have been correct.  What had happened when Maleficent had been left in chains?  She had somehow charmed or cajoled or manipulated little Rose into freeing her.

Rose had not been adjusting very well to her new life.  Flora and Merryweather chalked it up to side effects from the Sleeping Curse.  Flora instructed everyone in the castle—including her younger sisters—to leave Rose alone as much as possible, that she might get the extra rest she needed.

Fauna feared that there was more to it than that.  Rose had always been spirited.  She had never been the sort to behave passively, to stay inside and do her lessons, or to follow orders.  She was not a bad child—not at all—but she was clever, sometimes mischievous, and most of all, very curious.

Here, though, Rose never asked questions.  She rarely conversed longer than she needed to, and she seemed to find it difficult.  Sometimes, when she seemed to be paying attention, she was awkward, as though she did not know what to say.  Most times, though, she was distant and lost track of what little conversation there was to be had.

Honestly, when Fauna learned that Rose had left the confines of her room to explore the castle, she had been relieved.  This was the Rose she knew, and Fauna didn't see why she had to be shut up in her room all the time, anyway.  What harm could come of her taking a little walk around?

What harm, indeed.

Fauna had even suggested that Rose ought to speak with Maleficent before she was put on trial.  Rose's curiosity almost invariably got the better of her, and Fauna knew that far more harm than good could come from Rose not getting all of the answers she wanted.  She feared that the vague idea of Maleficent, some looming, faceless creature who had hunted her throughout her youth, would haunt Rose for the rest of her life.  Fauna thought that perhaps it would be better for Rose to see that Maleficent was not some impossibly fearsome beast, some immortal force of evil who would live on even after her death, the way Prince Philip made her out to be in his gallant tale, and the way Flora and Merryweather sometimes made her out to be in their minds. 

Maleficent was a wicked fairy like any other.  She was cruel and ruthless and far cleverer than any other wicked fairy Fauna had ever encountered, but she was a wicked fairy nonetheless, and all wicked fairies could be defeated.

Though she didn't dare say anything for fear of incurring the longest lecture of her life, Fauna didn't understand her sisters' surprise at what had transpired a few nights ago.  Rose had led a very sheltered life, and she had always been an uncommonly kind-hearted child.  She knew nothing of wicked people like Maleficent, who would tell lies upon lies if it got them what they wanted.  Of course she would not understand why Maleficent must be put to death.

Fauna rather hoped Rose still didn't understand.  She hoped that Rose _was_ just fine, wherever she was.  It wasn't impossible.  Maleficent wouldn't harm Rose if she still wanted something.

Then again, she had never seemed to want anything before, and Fauna couldn't imagine what she wanted now.  Flora and Merryweather and the King seemed to think Maleficent was holding Rose captive for no other reason than because she was Evil and that was the sort of thing Evil Creatures did, and perhaps they were right.  Perhaps Fauna was only holding out hope for some higher purpose because that would mean that Rose stood a chance.

Fauna and her sisters hadn't left the Land of Three Kingdoms since they'd gone to the Sea Kingdom centuries ago, and truthfully, Fauna was looking forward to the change.  But Mistress Felicity was Flora's friend, not hers, and something about her had always made Fauna just the slightest bit uneasy.  She supposed the Land of Hill and Valley must be a very different sort of place to live—the fairies there were sharper, almost aggressive by necessity, as the land had a history of being constantly overrun with nomadic wicked fae.  Still, Fauna had a hard time being around them.

As she packed her satchel and enchanted it to fit into her pocket, Fauna closed her eyes and dared to dream of the Sea Kingdom once more: the tall, muscular fairies, the strange, glowing beauty of the sea when night fell, and the way the damp sand felt between her toes.  Perhaps it was premature, or even insensitive to dream of visiting such a faraway land again, but Fauna privately doubted that Maleficent would make herself easy to find until she wished to be found.

* * *

Briar Rose considered that perhaps it had not been a very long time at all since she had come here, but the days that stood between herself and the life she had fled seemed endless.  All the more so when they stepped outside of Maleficent's childhood home and Maleficent held out her hand to Rose, presumably to transport them to the Land of Hill and Valley.

Rose took Maleficent's hand, perhaps a bit too firmly, for Maleficent's eyes flew to Rose's hand in hers before she seemed to recover from the shock and said, in her usual, politely appraising manner, "Ah.  I had forgotten you...don't like to travel."

Maleficent shook Rose's clinging hand from her own, which ought to have been no easy task.  Rose was not certain how she had managed it at all until she realized that her hands were tingling.  She examined her hands, as though she might find the source when she knew the answer already, until Maleficent gently cleared her throat, and Rose looked up to find that Maleficent had tucked her staff under one elbow, and she was extending her arms towards Rose.

Rose took a moment to understand the gesture, and when at last she did, she felt her cheeks flush hot for some reason which felt murky even in her own mind.  She averted her eyes as she walked into Maleficent's waiting arms, but Maleficent seemed unconcerned by her reaction.  She wrapped one arm about Rose's waist and cradled Rose's head in the other hand, and then the awful sensation of being nowhere returned, and Rose had no more time to feel embarrassed.  She clung to the solidity of Maleficent with abandon.

The journey could not have taken more than a few seconds, but when Rose's feet touched solid ground once more, she fell to her knees in relief.

"Do you think me a substandard sorceress?" Maleficent wondered, her voice coloured with the kind of cruel humour that turned Rose's stomach.

Rose, who was preoccupied with trying unceremoniously to stand upon legs that trembled beneath her, did not deign to respond.

"I can bring a scourge upon a kingdom," Maleficent continued, gloating, "yet I cannot magic a mere slip of a maiden to her intended destination?"

"Stop it."

"Oh, do forgive me," said Maleficent, voice rich with mockery.  "You are a maiden no longer."

The comment stung for reasons Rose could not explain.  She felt the most dreadful sensation stirring within her, rising up from somewhere in the pit of her stomach and rendering her nearly dizzy with the force of it.  She didn't have the words to tell Maleficent that if she'd had her way, she wouldn't be a married woman, bound forever to a man she barely knew, and one whom she might perhaps not adore nearly as much as she'd thought at first, but she didn't have a say, she didn't have a say in any of it, because, because...

Rose clenched her fists at her sides.  "And you are a maiden still," she said coldly, and even as she continued to speak, she wished desperately that she could take the words back.  "So perhaps I am not so inferior to you as you imagine."

Maleficent's expression was difficult to parse.  Her features were so dramatic that even a subtle raise of her brow seemed monumental.  After a moment's unbearable stillness, she let out a huff of strange laughter.  "I meant no insult, Highness," she said, with a peculiar sort of amusement that only served to worsen the sickening feeling in Rose's stomach.  "And I am...surprised that you took it as such.  Then again, I suppose a human girl might well harbour such delusions."

"Delusions," Rose echoed miserably.  The world felt like bile at the back of her throat.

"They say that a wicked fairy's magic is a curse," Maleficent continued thoughtfully, "but I daresay I have been fortunate.  My ken would be appalled by the notion of defining one's worth by the base machinations of a man towards her."

Rose swallowed hard, and felt a terrible shudder course through her.  "And how," she began tremulously, "am I meant to define my worth?  By my parents, who sent me away before I could remember them?  By my...my...my non-aunt... _fairies_ , who—who...brought me up just to—to send me away yet again?  By the life I was meant to lead?  The one I can barely understand?  By—by whether you will see fit to spend the afternoon with me, whether or not you speak cruelly and then deny that you meant to insult me?  By whether you will one day decide to leave me, alone in a strange place, and never return?  How?  How am I to define my worth?"

Maleficent's expression remained infuriatingly unreadable.  "Forgive me," she began thinly.  "My concern was—"

 “Concern!" Rose cut her off tearfully.  "What concern could you possibly have for me?  Didn't you want me dead?  Wouldn't it be easier if I were gone?  Would you feel badly, because I saved your life by setting you free?  Is that it?"

"Have you no concern for yourself?" Maleficent countered coolly.

"Obviously not," said Rose, with a sweeping gesture towards Maleficent, and the words tasted bitter upon her tongue.

Maleficent inclined her head thoughtfully.  "You truly believe that?" she wondered.  "You believe that you set me free because you hadn't a care left for what became of you?"

Rose lifted her chin defiantly, silently challenged Maleficent to prove her wrong.  What other explanation could there be?  She could have been held captive by her family or held captive by a madwoman, and which did she choose?

"As you seem to desire my opinion on so many matters at the moment, I shall begin with this one: if you truly had no care for what became of you, you would have let me die.  You would have remained with your husband and family, a good and faithful slave to the fickle whims of mortal minds.  You would have borne children for your noble prince, even if it tore you apart, and you would have faded contentedly into nothingness, your only legacy that you once famously _fell asleep_."

Maleficent moved so suddenly and so quickly that Rose barely even noticed until she was looming over her, scarcely a breath away.  Maleficent's black eyes seemed to shine, and her lip curled subtly.  Rose swallowed, but her throat was dry.

"Had you told me on the night that we met that you did not care what befell you," Maleficent continued, low and vehement, "I might have believed you.  I might have believed that you would learn to feign contentment within the confines of a grand delusion.  But now I can see you far more clearly.  You set me free, and you asked to accompany me, because you wanted to live."

Rose thought to protest, to tell Maleficent that she had had no way of knowing whether Maleficent would slaughter her and her family the moment her chains had been removed, but Maleficent's tone offered no room for interruption.

"Not merely to survive," she continued, "but to forge a life of your own choosing.  You knew you were not throwing your existence away by setting me free.  You did not remove my chains with a death-wish in your heart.  You believed me to be a woman of my word, believed in my promise to free you from your own prison.  Tell me," she sneered.  "Have you since changed your opinion of me?  Do you think me a lawless monster, after all?"

Rose's lower lip quivered.  She shook her head and blinked back frightened tears.  But Maleficent's fury fled her as quickly as it had come.  She straightened her posture and offered Rose her arm.  "Very well, then," she said quietly.  "Shall we?"

Rose took Maleficent's arm, for she was too frightened to refuse it, but her entire body was quivering.

"To answer your earlier question, I believe that one ought to define her worth independent of the whims of others.  People will come and go, plan and scheme, with or without your own wellbeing in mind, but you will always have yourself to worry about.  You will find no peace until you are contented to live with who you are."

Rose wrapped her fingers more tightly around Maleficent's arm in an effort to steady herself.  She tried to calm her racing heart, to steady her quivering legs, and finally, to take in what Maleficent had suggested to her.

She felt...stupid.  Reckless.  She felt suddenly that Maleficent's assessment of her motives had been overly generous, for what sort of person ran away from her life as a princess married to a decent man who had saved her to...well, to do whatever she was doing?  To live in an abandoned fortress far from anything she had ever known with the very magical being who had attempted to have her killed?

Setting that aside, what sort of person, having already set her mind to such a course of action, then proceeded to push and prod at that magical being, for no other reason than that she felt alone and frightened and wanted to yell at someone?  Maleficent had demonstrated how frightening she could be without even meaning to, and yet Rose so easily forgot herself.

"As I was attempting to say earlier, I would like to apologize for implying that a human girl could not comprehend the worldview of a fairy.  It is different, to be certain, but I do not look down upon you for the disparity of our experience.  I am not merely offering you protection on the basis of honour."

As Rose tried to piece together what Maleficent meant by her strange apology, she found herself hoping she would be able to understand a single word that Mistress Kinsale might say.

But Maleficent was apologizing, and that in itself was rather startling,  She was apologizing for...well, for what Rose had assumed she meant, more than for anything she had personally said.  And she was saying that she was concerned for Rose's wellbeing?  That she wasn't just...

"You...you don't?" Rose stammered belatedly.  "I mean, you aren't?"

She looked up to find Maleficent's attention focused upon the beautiful landscape unfolding before them.  The valley was perhaps not quite as foreign to Rose's sensibilities as was the Dragon Country, and so was it lovely in a fashion more comfortable to her.  The grass was thick and deep green, the late morning sky full of puffy white clouds, and everything around them, from the grass to the trees to the wildflowers, somehow seemed as though it had been placed exactly so.

"One of the few joys of being myself," said Maleficent quietly, in response to a question Rose had nearly forgotten she'd voiced, "is that I do not have to do anything I don't want to do."

The words themselves oughtn't to have been difficult to grasp, but the mere notion of such a circumstance made Rose's head spin.  She felt as though she were drowning in her own thoughts, unable to put voice to any of them.  The thought which made it to her lips was certainly not the most well-formed, but it was perhaps the most immediately pressing.  "You don't...want to kill me?"

Maleficent glanced down at her, "Haven't I said that already?"

Rose averted her eyes.  "Not in so many words."

"I don't know what it is you're hoping to uncover," said Maleficent, returning her gaze to the path before them.  "I could tell you there's no need to fear for your safety in my company, but that wouldn't make much difference if you don't believe me."

Rose stopped walking and let go of Maleficent's arm, wsummoning what little courage she possessed.  "I want to know why," she said, as firmly as she could manage, even as she felt her hands trembling at her sides.  "That's all.  Just why."

Maleficent turned to face her, expression impassive.  "I think," she said coldly, "that you are trying to find a reason to forgive me.  You want your good fairy aunts to be wrong about me."

Rose struggled not to avert her gaze.  "You're avoiding my question."

"There isn't some grand, tragic, misunderstood reason."

"Is there any reason at all, or is that just what you felt like doing one day?" asked Rose almost sharply.

Maleficent tilted her head and quirked one eyebrow, considering Rose for a moment before she responded.  "Queen Leah made a deal with me.  She didn't hold up her end of the bargain."

Rose felt suddenly like crying again, and she clasped her hands together tightly.  "What sort of deal was so important to you?"

"It wasn't of any importance to me at all," said Maleficent, raising her chin defiantly, suddenly with an air of haughtiness that did not fit. A sudden thought occurred to Briar Rose, and she was so stunned that she no longer felt like crying.  She gazed wide-eyed at Maleficent, and for a moment could not manage to say anything.

Maleficent was lying.

Rose was certain of it, and yet she couldn't imagine how she'd be certain of such a thing.  Maleficent could control a conversation without missing a beat.  Rose had previously imagined that most of what Maleficent said to her was probably at least slightly untrue, but if indeed Maleficent had lied to her before, she hadn't exhibited any telling mannerisms whatsoever.  And yet, just now, Maleficent had just lied to her, and Rose had _noticed_ it.  She did not know what to make of that.

She decided not to press the issue any further for today.  She'd gotten a partial answer, which was honestly more than she'd hoped for, and as to the matter of Rose's personal safety, well, there was little she could do but to take Maleficent at her word.

Rose looked away, for she realized she'd been staring.  "I would like to apologize...for...most of what I said earlier.  It was rather childish of me."

Maleficent approached her and offered her arm once more.  "Thank you," she said in her usual clipped tone.  "But there's no need.  In case it's escaped your notice, I'm not particularly accustomed to dealing with humans.  I'd much prefer if you made it clear what you're thinking and feeling."

Something about this comment, which was delivered in Maleficent's usual appraising tone, filled Rose with a kind of gushing happiness she'd only felt once before.  She was consumed by the urge to throw her arms around Maleficent, but that seemed like a very stupid idea indeed, and so she settled upon smiling to herself as they continued to walk.

There was something positively delightful about someone who didn't care what she thought or felt, in the sense that Maleficent didn't expect Rose to think or feel a certain way.  For the first time since her decision to run away, Rose truly felt as though she had gained some freedom in this mad venture.

 “Here we are,” said Maleficent, gesturing with her staff to a rather large manor not far ahead.

The landscape dipped slightly, a valley within a valley, and at its center stood a mansion big enough to be a castle, surrounded by high stone walls with no sign of a gate.  As they drew nearer, Rose wondered whether Maleficent was planning to magic them through, and what sort of a security system that would be if it were permissable.

Before she had very much time to ponder the nature of stone walls and fairy magic, however, a voice echoed across the valley, emanating from nowhere, or from everywhere, "WHO GOES THERE?"

A shudder coursed through Briar Rose, and she clutched onto Maleficent's arm.  Maleficent was unphased.

"Kinsale, it's Maleficent," she said.  "And I've brought a guest.  Is this a bad time?"

When next the voice sounded, its tone had changed utterly from dark and terrifying to warm and welcoming.  "Maleficent?  Truly?  It's been so long, I thought—!  One moment, I'll just..."

The voice faded beneath the rise of a faint rumbling, as though of distant thunder.  Then the earth beneath their feet began to shake.  And then the stone wall began to ripple...to _move_...to shift so that it formed an archway which offered passage to the massive front doors of Mistress Kinsale’s home.

Maleficent gestured toward the doors.  “After you.”

Rose smoothed her hair and began to fidget with her dress, “Are you certain I won’t..."

"What?"

Rose looked up, timid.  "Embarrass myself?"

Maleficent quirked a brow and let out a huff of exasperation before she placed a hand lightly upon Rose's back to lead her towards the door.  "And why would I deliberately lead you to this place if I thought you would be an embarrassment?  For my own amusement at your expense?”

Rose turned over her shoulder to look at Maleficent skeptically, too cowed by the course of their conversation thus far to say aloud that she did indeed think Maleficent might do such a thing.  To her surprise, Maleficent's lips quirked upward into a subtle smirk, and somehow Rose found herself very nearly returning the smile.

"Come now," Maleficent inclined her head in the direction of the door, and Rose returned her attetion to the task at hand.

The house was even more imposing than it seemed from afar.  The double doors that marked the front entrance must have been twice the height of those in Maleficent's childhood home, and Rose took in a sharp breath when they swung open with no one behind them, as though by magic.

Rose shook her head.  Of course it was by magic.

Behind the doors was a grand ballroom like nothing Rose had ever seen, decorated in shades of silver and gold that glittered as the light streamed in from outside.  As they entered and the doors closed heavily behind them, Rose realized that even without the sunlight, the ballroom was flooded with a rich, warm sort of glow which did not seem to be coming from anywhere in particular.  Along one wall there were rows of banquet tables covered in shimmering silver tablecloths, and around the room there were various seating arrangements, from elegant dining tables to circles of cosy armchairs.  On either side of the room was an enormous fireplace surrounded by big, puffy chairs, and still with all of this, there was a sprawling floor made for dancing.

The room was split in two by a deep red carpet, and Rose followed its path to an equally magnificent throne.  Atop the throne she could see a roaring lion's head crafted from shimmering gold, with a mane that seemed to fly in an imaginary breeze.

So overwhelmed was she by all that she saw that she did not notice the figure sitting beneath the lion's head until it moved to stand up, and Briar Rose found that Mistress Kinsale was every bit as magnificent as the house she inhabited.

Rose stood frozen in awe, vaguely aware that she must be staring slack-jawed, but unable to move until she felt Maleficent's hand on her back once more, urging her forward.  Together they traveled the length of the red carpet to greet their host.

"I can scarcely believe my eyes," said Mistress Kinsale in a voice that was like music.  "Mistress Maleficent of the Three Kingdoms, here in my very own humble abode once more."

She held out her hands as she descended the stairs to her throne to greet them, and though Rose distantly wondered what Maleficent's reaction might be, she could not bring herself to look away.  Mistress Kinsale was tall, but not quite as impossibly spindly as Maleficent, and her build was altogether much sturdier.  She wore a breathtaking gown of silver that flared at her waist in the modern style, with little gold accents that caught the light as she moved.  Where Maleficent's skin was a pale grey-green, Kinsale's was the colour of the forest in summer, deep and rich, and with a healthy glow Maleficent lacked.

When Kinsale reached Maleficent, she took her by the shoulders and kissed her on both cheeks.  Rose felt herself startle instinctively, prepared for the same violent reaction she, herself, had received.  But Maleficent endured the gesture stoically, and when she had been released, she smiled thinly.  "It is good to see you again, Kinsale," she said.  "I hope I haven't put you out by dropping in unexpectedly."

"Oh, not at all, darling!" Kinsale waved a hand dismissively.  "Now," she turned, with an inhuman sharpness that set Rose's nerves on edge.  "Are you going to introduce me to your charming guest?"

Rose managed an uneasy smile and a wavering curtsey, but she could not bring herself to speak.  Kinsale's eyes were not coal black like Maleficent's, but very dark browm, shining not with cunning or suspicion, but with something akin to warmth.  Kinsale's features were sharp like Maleficent's, strange in a way that set her apart from a human even setting aside the green skin, and her hair, which was the same dark brown as her eyes, was pulled back into a very intricate, braided hairstyle, revealing that the tips of her ears were pointed.

"Mistress Kinsale," Maleficent spoke, and Rose wondered whether she had been silent overlong in her fascination. "may I introduce her Royal Highness, the Princess Aurora of the Kingdom of the East?"

Mistress Kinsale smiled, revealing teeth that gave off the impression of unusual sharpness, and Rose felt herself shiver.  She offered a deep, sweeping curtsey which put Rose's feeble attempt to shame, and when she had finished, she reached out for Rose as she had done to Maleficent.

"The famous Princess Aurora?" Kinsale wondered, delightedly.  "Why, Maleficent, but you are unbelievable!  Your Royal Highness," she took Rose's hands and lowered herself again so that she could touch them to her forehead.  "I cannot tell you what an honour and a pleasure it is," she continued, with a richness in her voice that felt remarkably like sincerity.

"Now, you simply must come and sit down," she said as she righted herself, "for I sincerely hope that this is as good of a story as I suspect!"  She ushered them across the sprawling dance floor to one of the many lush seating arrangements in the room, comprised of three large armchairs and a tea table.

“Sit!” she exclaimed.  They sat.  “Tea?” she asked, and before they could answer, she waved her hand absently at the table and conjured an entire tea set, complete with a steaming tea kettle that smelled of raspberries.

“Maleficent, let’s begin with you.  Last I heard, you found Aurora and enacted your intended curse, captured Prince Philip of the North and were planning to keep him in your dungeon until he ceased to amuse you.  Did something go wrong?” she looked at Rose and her deep brown eyes quickly took in Rose’s entire body, down and back up.  Rose shivered.  “Or perhaps right?”

Rose looked to Maleficent, hoping she might share more information with her friend.  Maleficent rolled her eyes.  “I suppose you wouldn’t know this, but the minions I kept had become rather pitiful—rampant inbreeding.  I shouldn’t have entrusted anything to them.  In any event, the three good fairies managed to outrun them, turned Diablo to stone, and made off with Philip, apparently equipping him with a Sword of Truth and a Shield of Virtue.”

“A what?” Kinsale interrupted her.  Rose realized that Kinsale was on the edge of her seat.  “Where did Flora get those?  I’ve never met even one of those sisters—I wasn’t aware they had any kind of network.  Or have they become significantly more powerful since last we spoke?”

Maleficent shrugged, “They must have acquired them somewhere—Flora had to steal magic from her sisters to enact the Sword Incantation.”

“No!” Kinsale’s hand flew to her mouth.  “Oh, Maleficent, were you badly hurt?”

Maleficent waved a hand dismissively, “I am obviously quite all right.  My point was that Flora not only acquired a Sword of Truth and a Shield of Virtue, but the Chains of Avasina.”

Kinsale sat back in her seat, brow furrowed dramatically in concetration.  “I wonder how she managed that," she said, slowly.  "Do you have powerful enemies of whom I’m not aware?”

Maleficent averted her gaze for an instant.  “It’s not impossible, but it’s more likely that Flora appealed to someone with a more...general hatred for the wicked fae.”

“You don’t mean Mistress Sara?”

“Hmm,” Maleficent considered this.  “I would have suspected someone a bit closer to home.  I don't think the Righteous Three travel much.”

Kinsale shrugged.  “Felicity?  I never thought her the type to trifle with such artefacts, but there have been so many drifters here over the past few years, perhaps she has taken to drastic measures.  She’s quite good at enchanting objects to do her bidding.  Sometimes I worry about inviting her to my soirees.  I fear my dinnerware might come after me.”

Maleficent chuckled.  Rose's head was spinning, and she couldn't even begin to make sense of half of the information she'd just heard.  She had a strange and contradictory impression of Kinsale.  On the one hand, she exuded warmth and enthusiasm, something Rose had been sorely missing with no one but Maleficent or herself for company.  On the other hand, Rose realized that, just as readily as Kinsale had accepted Rose's presence, she would have accepted her absence and rejoiced in Maleficent's victory.

It occurred to Rose, in the form of a jolt of fear, that Maleficent might have brought Rose to Kinsale to get rid of her, since Maleficent did not want to kill the person who had spared her life.

“Anyway, what was it like?" Kinsale asked, and Rose tried to imagine her a cold-blooded murderer.  It wasn't a difficult thing to see in Maleficent.  Though Kinsale was similarly intimidating, Rose found it a challenge to reconcile her evident pleasantness with the possibility of cruelty.  "I know of only two fairies who have been put in those things and lived to tell the tale, and one of them is not very keen on talking to me."

Rose could certainly see how this woman had written a biography so compelling that even someone as illiterate as Rose wanted to read it.  The world was a story to her, and she was so disarming that Rose imagined it must be easy for her to draw the stories she wrote out of their keepers.

Or perhaps it was just her.  Maleficent, for her part, looked distinctly uncomfortable.  Her posture was stiffer than usual, and her focus was on the fire Kinsale had lit in one of her fireplaces without Rose's notice. 

"It is...difficult to explain," Maleficent began slowly.  "It's the feeling when a fairy has utterly sapped her magic, yet the magic does not return.  I think I nearly...forgot...what it was like, to have magic."

“That’s horrible,” murmured Kinsale.  “What of your sword wound?”

Maleficent shook her head.  “Apparently I was unconscious for many days.  When I came around, I was in a great deal of pain that occasionally overwhelmed me back into unconsciousness.  The wound began to heal when my magic was returned to me, of course, but very slowly.  It no longer pains me very much.”

Rose's brow furrowed in concern.  Maleficent had seemed so untouchable to her even that first night.  It hadn't once occurred to Rose that she might be in pain from her near-fatal injury, and she felt rather stupid for forgetting to even ask after it.

 “I am sorry for excluding you, Princess Aurora," said Kinsale and Rose jumped to attention.  "How do you like your tea?”

Rose had not taken a drink of the tea.  Though it smelled delicious, Rose had idly wondered whether it might be poisoned and had been eyeing it suspiciously ever since the idea had occurred to her.  Faced with Kinsale's frightening smile, however, Rose quickly took a sip.  "It's delicious," she murmured with a nervous smile.  "Thank you."

“I’m glad," said Kinsale.  "Are we being dull?  It isn’t often I entertain royalty, and I shouldn’t like to give you a bad impression.”

“No, no,” Rose shook her head, concentrating on her tea.  "Of course not."

"Are you getting new information?  I could interrogate her a bit more if you'd like," said Kinsale with a wink.  Rose was so taken aback that she nearly dropped her teacup.

“So!" Kinsale cried, mercifully returning her attention to Maleficent.  "When we left off, you were in—Stefan’s dungeon, I presume?—bound by the magical Chains of Avasina." her voice took on a dark, dramatic quality as she wove her tale.  "Your magic was slowly draining out of you, to be lost forever, and you were surely to be condemned to death—what happened next?”

Against Rose's better judgement, she found herself drawn into Kinsale's story—or perhaps the captivating way in which she spoke the words—and for a moment she found it easy to forget her own involvement.

“My," said Maleficent, her expression more pleasant than Rose had ever seen it, "you can spin a story into something far more gripping than it was.” 

Kinsale bowed her head in thanks. 

“Prince Philip, King Stefan, and a council of nobles I had never seen before came shortly after I awoke and informed me that as I had survived, I would be tried for my crimes.  Later, Stefan came alone to inform me that he would see me dead no matter the cost."

Though Rose had barely spoken with King Stefan—her father, she had to remind herself—she found this revelation distressing.  She tried to understand it, to think, _if I were my daughter...and Maleficent had cursed my daughter to die_...but this made her head ache.  King Stefan did not feel like her father, and she could not imagine how he could think of her as his daughter when he knew nothing about her.  That was a thought for another time, preferably when Rose didn't have so much other troubling information to contend with.  She tried to refocus her attention on Maleficent and Kinsale's conversation, instead.

"I considered telling him exactly where his little deal with Hubert would be without my help, but I imagined there was little point as he would not fully believe me, and in any event, I would not be around to enjoy the court intrigue I might engender.  Later that night,” Maleficent shot Rose a sidelong glance, “the Princess Aurora paid me a secretive visit of her own.”

“And why did you think she had come to visit you?”

Maleficent raised her eyes to the ceiling.  “I supposed she had gotten wind that I was alive and wished to see me for herself, perhaps ask why I wanted her dead.”

“And Princess Aurora," Kinsale turned to Rose, "why did you come to see Maleficent?”

Kinsale was still crafting her story.  A part of Rose still found it disturbing, but she was also rather helplessly drawn in by Kinsale's enthusiasm.  “I...well," she began, her voice weak, "Philip...told me that she was alive and I...well, he doesn't ever tell me everything, anything, that's going on, so I...sort of snuck out of my room and learned that my...that the good fairies were planning to...to execute her," she swallowed, "and...I don’t know, I had to know the truth.  About...many things.”

Kinsale nodded and motioned for Maleficent to continue.

Maleficent's lip curled, but somehow it seemed more mocking than malicious.  “As I’m sure you’ve been hoping from the beginning, out of the kindness of her heart, the princess agreed to remove my Chains on the condition that, wherever I went, I would take her with me.”

Kinsale leaned forward, “I see!  Aurora gave you your freedom and you gave Aurora hers!  How delightful!”

Maleficent responded with a huff of derision, then cast another sideways glance at Rose.  “The princess is very fond of one of your books,” she said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Really?” Kinsale clasped a hand to her heart, redirecting her attention to Rose, who shrank into her seat.  “Oh, how wonderful!  Which one?”

“ _The Biography of Mistress Acacia_ ,” said Rose.  She tried to swallow the lump slowly forming in her throat.

“Mistress Acacia!  Oh, that is wonderful!  Have you read the whole story?”

Rose blushed and looked down at her hands as she shook her head.

“Oh dear, I did not mean to cause you embarrassment!” she exclaimed.  She placed a hand gently on Rose's arm, and Rose flinched away in surprise, but Kinsale pretended not to notice.  “How far have you gotten?”

“Not very far at all,” Rose said to her hands.  “I just read the part about the people of the kingdom beginning to blame Acacia for the food shortage.”

“Oh, what a fascinating story!  I could have written several volumes on Mistress Cordelia, given the opportunity.  Unfortunately, I only ever met her once, and she'd gone well off the deep end by then.  I was a young thing then, had never published anything, had no name, no credibility, of course she wouldn’t have anything to do with me, legend that she was."

Kinsale's exuberance served as a perfect distraction from Rose's embarrassment, and Rose looked up with renewed interest.

"And you know, a story like that isn’t really anything without some first-hand information," Kinsale continued.  "Acacia was quite remarkable, though.  She suffered such adversity at such a young age, and yet at the end of her life, she turned out to be quite a charming woman.  Not unlike Mistress Maleficent,” Kinsale said with another wink.

Rose averted her eyes once more, but she wasn't quite able to contain her smile.  Kinsale spoke of Acacia and Maleficent as Rose might speak of someone like Kinsale, but she supposed Maleficent did possess a darker sort of charm.

“Tell me, Aurora," said Kinsale.  "Were you offended by my portrayal of the humans in that part of the story?”

Rose shook her head, surprised.  "No!" she cried, too fast.  "No, I thought it was...diplomatic," she remembered Maleficent saying, and grasped onto the word in want of her own.  "I don't really...think it's right, that they didn't blame the good fairy who started the problem."

Kinsale afforded Maleficent a sidelong smirk.   "You’ve been a bad influence on her already, I see.”

“I have done nothing of the sort," Maleficent replied crisply.  "I was not aware that she was reading _Mistress Acacia_ until yesterday evening.”

Kinsale chuckled, “Whatever you say.  Well, Aurora, I hope you will keep me informed of what you think of the rest of the book!”

Rose nodded quickly, hoping this meant that her part of the conversation was over for the moment.

“Now, where have you been since the dungeons of the Eastern Fortress?”

"Eastern Fortress," Maleficent echoed derisively.  "We've been living in the castle in the Dragon Country, of course.  Where else?"

“What a beautiful land," Kinsale replied, undeterred.  "How do you find it, Aurora?”

"Oh...yes.  Very lovely."

“How are the dragons these days, Maleficent?”

“Well, that is actually the purpose of my visit.  I hoped you might have some insight on this matter.  All of the dragons are gone except for one, who is at most a year old.”

“No!” Kinsale gasped.  “Does the juvenile know anything?  Can you communicate with her?”

Maleficent nodded and Rose saw in her eyes an echo of the listless panic Maleficent had exhibited a few days ago.  “She faintly remembers a storm or explosion of some sort.  Shortly thereafter, everyone became very ill and started dying off in scores.”

Kinsale’s expression of jovial fascination had turned to one of grim concern.  Rose wondered whether Kinsale truly cared or whether it was merely another story to her.  “That doesn’t sound good at all, does it?”

“To make matters worse," said Maleficent, "I haven’t seen a single person in the nearby village who is even middle-aged.”

 “That is odd.  And it doesn’t seem like a passer-by thing to do,” Kinsale tapped her pointer finger to her chin thoughtfully.  “But to my knowledge, you’re the only living wicked fairy with any connection to the Dragon Country.”

“Unless of course Adara is still alive.”

Kinsale shook her head, “Now who’s making a good story?”

“Tell me it's impossible,” Maleficent challenge.

"Maleficent,” said Kinsale firmly, “no one has seen or heard from her in over a century.”

Maleficent averted her gaze with a certain impetuousness Rose had never seen in her.  “Yes, yes," she conceded distantly.  "I suppose I only wanted your opinion on the matter.”

“My opinion," said Kinsale, "is that it was not Adara.  You’re right, of course—nothing is impossible, but it makes less sense than, say, a disciple of Mistress Sara.”

“Ah,” Maleficent responded, but she seemed to return only partially from whatever faraway place her mind had taken her.  “I had not considered Mistress Sara.  That's the second time you've brought her up.”

Kinsale nodded grimly, “I fear that Sara must always be considered these days.  I am dreadfully sorry, Aurora—do you know about Mistress Sara?”

“Is she the same Mistress Sara who defeated Mistress Cordelia?” asked Rose.  Hadn't that been centuries ago?  How long did wicked fairies live, exactly?

“That’s the one!” said Kinsale, her previous glee returning in an instant.  "My, but the Sea Kingdom is a lovely place to visit!  Have you ever seen the ocean?"

Rose shook her head and leaned forward in her seat.

“You think the Dragon Country is beautiful—oh, just wait until you see the Kingdom by the Sea!  And if you are fond of Mistress Acacia’s story, you simply must visit all of the historical places there!  Why, if Maleficent is too busy brooding over her schoolbooks, I shall take you, myself!”

Maleficent's expression was as impassive as usual, but somehow her eyes burned.

“Excuse me,” said Kinsale, “I’ve gotten off-topic.  Maleficent, you wouldn’t know this, having been so preoccupied over the last few years, but Mistress Sara has gathered something of a fanatical following amongst good fairies.  Happens every so often, you know, she goes on one of her little rampages, and this time, Felicity is one of her followers.  Honestly, I would have expected Flora to subscribe to her nonsense.”

“Yes, well,” said Maleficent, “she was rather busy hiding the princess from me.”

Again, Rose felt her stomach twist.  She could easily imagine their friendly conversation without her presence as they rejoiced in her endless Sleeping Curse, or in her death.

“Of course, of course,” said Kinsale lightly, waving her hands as though to clear the air.  “My, what a lot of serious talk in one sitting!  Aurora, would you care to take a tour of my home?”

"Oh!" Rose exclaimed without meaning to, startled to be addressed once more.  "Yes, of course," she amended, and forced a smile.

"Wonderful!" Kinsale cried as she stood.  "Maleficent, are you staying here?"

Maleficent, whose attention had not quite returned to the conversation for several minutes, rested her chin in her hand as she contemplated the fireplace.  "I'm certain you two will find much to discuss in my absence," she said distantly.

Kinsale waved her hand at the teaset and Maleficent's cup refilled itself with steaming raspberry tea.  "Enjoy the sound of your own voice," she said sweetly.  She turned with a flourish and offered her arm to Rose.

"There's little to see on this floor," said Kinsale as they made their way across the ballroom and into a foyer which contained nothing but a grand staircase, "apart from the ballroom and the perpetual stormcloud looming over Maleficent's head."

Rose looked up, surprised, and she almost laughed.  "I thought it was my fault."

"Of course not!" Kinsale shook her head.  "Why, Maleficent's worst enemy is her own mind!  Though I expect you get under her skin a fair bit more than she likes.”

“How do you figure that?” Rose wondered.

They reached the top of the stairs, and Kinsale led her down a hallway towards a room with a closed door.  It occurred to Rose, distantly, that perhaps she ought to be frightened of Kinsale, but she just could not bring herself to remember it.  Kinsale's warmth and friendliness, though jarring in comparison to the things she seemed to find important, were too welcome a change from Maleficent's gloomy demeanour.

Kinsale opened the door and gestured that Rose should enter.  "This is my library," she said.  Though there was plenty of natural light, Kinsale waved a hand and the room was flooded with the same warm magical light from the ballroom.

"Oh," Rose breathed, for she had never seen so many books in her life.  The walls were lined with them, from floor to ceiling, and just as soon as it had occurred to her that there was no way of reaching most of the books, she remembered that the owner of this magnificent collection could use magic.

“Maleficent used to have a stunning library," Kinsale continued. "It put this one to shame.  But I suspect it’s very much out of date and untended now.  And I know Adara never cared much for books.  She was very creative with spells, though.  That was her most frightening advantage.  Excuse me—I meant to say, Maleficent isn’t used to being fond of people."

Rose whipped her head around to look at Kinsale.  "Fond of people?" she echoed incredulously..  "Half the time I think she's barely restraining herself from snapping my neck."

Kinsale chuckled lightly, and Rose abruptly wished she hadn't said anything.  "I'm afraid that's just her sweet disposition," said Kinsale with a shrug.  "If you want my opinion, I don't think Maleficent ever had it in her to kill an innocent girl like you."

"Innocent," Rose breathed.  "What is more innocent than an infant child?"

"Hmm," Kinsale tapped her chin thoughtfully.  "Let me see if I can explain this.  It's much easier for someone like Maleficent to imagine ending the life of something like a baby—something which doesn't have any significance to her, personally, something which is more a representation of a concept than it is a baby, in her mind—than ending the life of a sentient person, especially one she does not actively dislike.  Does that make sense?"

It felt...wrong, and sickening, that a baby could seem insignificant and easy to kill.  "I'm afraid I still don't understand.  How could someone wish harm to someone so...completely defenseless?"

Kinsale considered this a moment before she spoke.  "Consider that a newborn baby princess isn't completely defenseless," she said slowly.  "She has her parents, the King and Queen, who have an army at their disposal.  She has three Good Fairy guardians who are bound by their duty as King's Counselors to defend her.  Indeed, this particular newborn princess has three kingdoms worth of people who will likely go to task for her if the need arises."

Rose averted her eyes and wrung her hands together uncomfortably.  "I suppose I see what you're saying, at least," she said, with some difficulty.  "But that doesn't really excuse what she did...or what she meant to do, anyway."

"I wasn't trying to excuse Maleficent's actions, only to clarify them," Kinsale replied lightly, as though it were nothing.  "Maleficent's curse was not an act against you, personally.  It was an act against you as a faceless entity—namely, the baby princess—and an act against you as you relate to your kingdom.  I can't speak for her, of course, but based upon what I know of Maleficent, this seems the most likely explanation for her behaviour.  That certainly doesn't make it excusable by human standards."

 _What about your standards?_ Rose wanted to ask, but she bit her tongue and considered the information she had been offered.

It made sense with what Maleficent had told her earlier, namely that she had cursed Rose because Queen Leah, her mother, had broken some kind of deal with her.  And if Rose were to believe Kinsale, that would mean that she was truly no longer in danger.  It didn't seem like a particularly good idea to let her guard down, and yet if she were still in danger, there would be little she could do to defend herself.  Her disbelief wouldn't stop someone who was bent upon killing her, anyway.

"I'm still not sure I believe that she doesn't actively dislike me, as you put it," Rose murmured, still wrapped up in thought.

Kinsale laughed again and placed a hand on Rose's shoulder.  Rose flinched involuntarily, but she made an effort not to shy away.  "I'm afraid you'll simply have to trust me on that one," said Kinsale, squeezing Rose's shoulder affectionately.  "I've known Maleficent since she was only a bit older than you are.  On we go."

Rose followed Kinsale out of the library contemplating an entirely new branch of questions.  How long ago had Maleficent been nearly Rose's age?  Rose had thought at first glance that Maleficent was fairly young—maybe in her thirties at most.  The thinness of her face emphasized the sharpness of her features and gave her an air of maturity, but she didn't have a single wrinkle.

But Maleficent had left the Dragon Country nearly a century ago.  Meaning she was more than a century old.

Apart from Maleficent's apparent deference to her, Kinsale generally appeared and gave off the air of being younger than Maleficent.  Her face was rounder, her voice was lighter, and she seemed altogether far less troubled, though that mostly proved to be somewhat disconcerting.

"This is my study, and it doubles as my mail room," said Kinsale, as she opened a door at the end of the hallway.  Behind the door were a few stairs which led to a large room with a high ceiling.  In the center of the room was a writing desk covered in loose papers and many unique, colourful quills.   The room was lined by huge windows which overlooked the hilly fields over which Rose and Maleficent had walked.  Occupying the windowsills were perhaps a dozen doves of varying colours, all of whom cooed happily at the sight of Kinsale.

"Oh!" Rose exclaimed with a smile.  "What lovely birds!"

"They're very friendly," Kinsale said with an encouraging smile.

Rose glanced back at her uncertainly, but her curiosity quickly won out, and she ventured toward the windowsill.  The birds cooed to her, as well, and when she smiled in response, one of them flew to her and lit upon her shoulder.  "Oh!" Rose breathed as she reached up to stroke the peach-coloured feathers above the dove's beak.  "Hello there!"  And perhaps it was an odd thought, but Rose found that she instantly liked Kinsale much better.

"I've always found birds to be very good judges of character, you know," said Kinsale, as though echoing Rose's own thoughts.

Rose turned back to her.  "Sometimes I think I understand birds better than I understand people," she said.

Kinsale tilted her head slightly, studying Rose, but the gesture didn't make Rose as uncomfortable as it had before.  "I do hope you'll take my offer of correspondence seriously," she said as she approached.  "It must be a difficult situation that brought you here, and Maleficent is a difficult person.  I may not be an ideal confidante for you, but I'd hate for you to feel you have no one to talk to."

Rose averted her eyes.  "Thank you," she said, and she found that the words were genuine.  "I think I'd like that.  To have someone to talk to."

Kinsale tapped Rose's chin lightly, and Rose did not flinch this time.  "You and Maleficent might have more in common than you think," said Kinsale.

Rose scoffed and shook her head.  "Maybe, but you said yourself she's not the easiest person to communicate with."

"Perhaps not," Kinsale sighed thoughtfully.  "Maybe..." she frowned, averted her gaze to the birds on the windowsill.  "Consider that the reasons she can be a bit...standoffish...aren't what you think they are.  Oh!"

Before Rose could ask for clarification, Kinsale moved past her to gaze at something outside.  Rose turned to look, too, but she couldn't see anything out of the ordinary.

"It seems I have more unexpected guests," said Kinsale pleasantly.  Shortly after she had finished speaking, bells and alarms began sounding from everywhere and nowhere, and Rose yelped.  Not a second later, Maleficent appeared in a burst of green flame, which caused a fresh wave of terror to course through Rose's veins.

"What in Hell's name is that disdainful noise?" she snapped at Kinsale.

Kinsale seemed remarkably unconcerned.  She ignored Maleficent and waved her hands, and the alarms gave way to a heavy silence.  “Excuse me,” she said.  She touched two fingers to her throat and then, as she had when Maleficent and Rose had arrived, bellowed “WHO GOES THERE?”

The voice which responded came, as Kinsale’s voice and the alarm sounds had, from nowhere and everywhere.  It resonated in Briar Rose’s head and in her heart, and she felt as if there were no escape to be had, in this life or any other.

“Mistress Kinsale of the Valley?  This is Mistress Flora of the Three Kingdoms.  We have never met before, but my sisters and I have come on an errand of the utmost importance.  Can you spare us a few moments?”


End file.
